
Class 

Book 

CoRyrightN . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



The Light That Shines in Darkness 



WORKS OF LEO TOLSTOY 

Published by Dodd, Mead Gf Company 

Resurrection, a Novel 

Hadji Murad, a Novel 

Father Sergius and Other Stories 

The Forged CoVipon and Other Stories 

The Man Who Was Dead 

(The Living Corpse) Dramas 

The Light That Shines in Darkness, a Drama 



The Light 
That Shines In Darkness 

A Drama 
LEO TOLSTOY 

Author of "Anna Karenina" "Resurrection" etc. 

Edited by Dr. Hagberg Wright 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1912 



V^ 1 



Copyright, iqts, 
It DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 



^/ 



> t 



CLA309147 

wo. I 






v* 


i 


Rt 


? 




1 


J 



PREFACE 

TOLSTOY AS DRAMATIST 

In almost every kind of literary work he touched, 
Tolstoy succeeded at once in reaching the fore- 
most rank. 

When he sent his first story, Childhood, anony- 
mously to the poet Nekrasov, editor of The Con- 
temporary (then the leading Petersburg maga- 
zine), the latter promptly accepted and published 
it; Dostoyevsky was so struck by it that he wrote 
from Siberia to inquire who its talented author 
was; Turgenev sang its praises, and Panaev was 
so delighted with it that his friends, it was said, 
had to avoid him on the Nevsky lest he should in- 
sist on reading them extracts from it. 

When Tolstoy turned from stories to novels he 
achieved the same immediate and complete suc- 
cess. The appearance of the first instalment of 
War and Peace sufficed to place him abreast of the 
world's greatest writers of fiction. 

Fourteen years later he turned to spiritual auto- 
5 



6 PREFACE 

biography, and his Confession immediately took 
rank beside those of St. Augustine and Rousseau. 

When he propounded his interpretation of 
Christ's teaching, his works produced a profound 
impression and, though they were prohibited in 
Russia, found a large circulation abroad besides 
a surreptitious one at home. 

Next he took to writing short, simple stories 
for the people, and the very first of these, What 
Men Live By (v. Twenty-three Tales), circulated 
by hundreds of thousands of copies in Russia, was 
translated into ail civilised languages, and de- 
lighted people, old and young, in the five conti- 
nents. 

When he turned his attention to social prob- 
lems, and wrote What Then Must We Do? the 
book aroused the deepest interest wherever it was 
read, and was promptly recognised as one of the 
most remarkable studies of poverty ever penned. 

He took to essays, and at once produced a 
series which many readers have declared to be as 
interesting and stimulating as any that were ever 
written. 

Interested in the philosophy of art, he wrote 
What is Art? His preparation for this attempt 



PREFACE 7 

to put art on a new basis took him, it is true, fifteen 
years, and a majority of critics everywhere de- 
nounced the opinions he expressed; but, at any 
rate, there was no doubt about the general interest 
he aroused, and the longer the matter is discussed, 
the stronger grows the suspicion that on the main 
point of the discussion Tolstoy saw deeper than his 
critics, and that, great artist as he was, his phi- 
losophy of art as well as his practice of it was 
fundamentally sound. 

Finally his philippics, such as his Reply to the 
Synod, which had excommunicated him (v. Essays 
and Letters), and his denunciation of the Courts- 
martial in / Cannot be Silent! rang out with a sin- 
cerity, courage, and effectiveness unparalleled since 
Pascal's Provincial Letters, or the famous theses 
Luther nailed to the church door at Wittenberg. 

Only as a dramatist did Tolstoy fail at his first 
attempt; and even in that direction success came 
so promptly that it is his success rather than his 
failure that surprises one. 

As a seventeen-year-old student at Kazan Uni- 
versity, he had taken part with much success in 
two plays given for some charity at Carnival time; 
and his taste for theatricals did not soon pass, 



8 PREFACE 

for in later years, when writing of the time after 
his return from the defence of Sevastopol, and tell- 
ing of the death of his brother Demetrius, he 
adds : " I really believe that what hurt me most 
was that his death prevented my taking part in 
some private theatricals then being got up at 
Court and to which I had been invited.'* 

While living in Petersburg and Moscow as a 
young man, Tolstoy was enthusiastic in his admira- 
tion of one of the great Russian actors of those 
days; but he never lived much in cities, and prob- 
ably no other greajt dramatist ever spent so little 
time in the theatre as he did. In that, as in many 
other lines of work, his quickness of perception, 
tenacity of memory and vividness of emotion en- 
abled him to dispense with the long training men 
of less genius require. 

In 1863, soon after his marriage, he wrote two 
plays which were never published. One, a farcical 
comedy called The Nihilist, was privately per- 
formed with much success. The other, also a 
comedy, called The Infected Family, he intended 
for public performance. With that end in view, 
Tolstoy took it to Moscow early in 1864. The 
theatrical season (which in Russia ends at the be- 



PREFACE 9 

ginning of Lent) was then, however, too far ad- 
vanced for any manager to stage the piece that 
winter; and, as it dealt with a topic of the day 
which lost some of its freshness by keeping, Tol- 
stoy never afterwards offered it to any one. 

That was the one and only rebuff he ever had 
to face in his literary career, if one excepts the 
amusing incident of his sending a short prose poem 
anonymously to a Moscow newspaper, and re- 
ceiving it back declined with thanks, on the ground 
that its author was " not yet sufficiently expert in 
expression ! " For the next six years he seems not 
to have taken any interest in the drama; but in 
1870 we find him writing to Fet: — ■■ 

" There is much, very much, I want to tell you 
about. I have been reading a lot of Shakespear, 
Goethe, Pushkin, Gogol and Moliere, and about 
all of them there is much I want to say to you." 

A few days later he again wrote to the same 
friend : — 

" You want to read me a story of cavalry life 
. . . And I don't want to read you anything, 
because I am not writing anything; but I very 
much want to talk about Shakespear and 
Goethe, and the drama in general. This whole 



io PREFACE 

winter I am occupied only with the drama; and it 
happens to me, as usually happens to people who, 
till they are forty, have not thought of a certain 
subject, or formed any conception of it; and then 
suddenly, with forty-year-old clearness, turn their 
attention to this new, untasted subject — it seems 
to them that they discern in it much that is new. 
All winter I have enjoyed myself lying down, 
drowsing, playing bezique, snow-shoeing, skating, 
and most of all lying in bed (ill) while characters 
from a drama or comedy have performed for me. 
And they perform very well. It is about that I 
want to talk to you. In that, as in everything, you 
are a classic and understand the essence of the 
matter very deeply. I should like also to read 
Sophocles and Euripides." 

The mood passed, and for another fifteen years 
one hears no more about it: Tolstoy being 
absorbed first in the production of an ABC Book 
for school-children, then with Anna Karenina, 
then with his Confession and religious studies, as 
well as with field-work, hut-building, and boot- 
making. 

Early in 1886, noting the wretched character of 
the plays given in the booths at the .Carnival 



PREFACE ii 

Shows on the Maidens' Field just outside Moscow, 
not far from his own house, and feeling how 
wrong it was that the dramatic food of the people 
should consist of the crudest melodramas, he was 
moved to turn into a play a small Temperance 
story he had written. This piece, called The First 
Distiller, is of no great importance in itself, but 
was the precursor of the splendid dramas he soon 
afterwards produced. 

The following summer, while out ploughing, he 
hurts his leg, neglects it, and gets erysipelas, which 
almost leads to blood-poisoning. His life is in 
imminent danger, he has to undergo a painful 
operation, is laid up for weeks, and while ill writes 
most of The Power of Darkness, an immensely 
powerful play which serves as a touchstone for 
those who have the Tolstoy feeling in them. 

From the poisoning of Peter, the husband, in 
the beginning, to the murder of the baby in the 
middle, and Nikita's arrest at the end, the piece 
is full of horrors which most people, who do not 
look at things from Tolstoy's point of view, find 
it wellnigh impossible to endure. To them the 
play appears to be one of unmitigated blackness. 
To Tolstoyans it is not so. The lies, the crimes, 



12 PREFACE 

the horrors are there, as in real life; but in the 
play one sees more clearly than in common life 
the clue to the meaning of it all. When Nikita's 
conscience begins to be touched; when Mitritch, 
the old soldier, teaches him not to be afraid of 
men; and finally when Akim, the old father, 
rejoices that his son has confessed, the heavens 
open and the purpose of life — the preparing for 
what is yet to come by getting things straight 
here and now — is revealed; and the effect of the 
play, instead of being sordid or painful, becomes 
inspiring. 

The play was founded on fact, though what 
happened in real life was even more gruesome, 
for in actual fact Nikita's prototype, when on 
the point of driving off to Akulina's wedding, 
suddenly seized a large wooden wedge and aimed 
a tremendous blow at her younger sister; and he 
did this not out of malice, but because he felt so 
sure that it is a misfortune to be alive in a world 
where things have gone so wrong as they have 
done in the world we live in. Fortunately his 
blow, which seemed certain to kill the girl, glanced 
aside, and merely stunned her without doing her 
any permanent injury. 



PREFACE 13 

The Power of Darkness was prohibited by the 
Dramatic Censor, and throughout the reign of 
Alexander III. its public performance in Russia 
was forbidden. 

It was produced for the first time at the Theatre 
Libre in Paris, in February 1888. Among its 
most enthusiastic admirers was Zola, who was as 
anxious about it as he could have been had it 
been his own work. " Above all, do not strike 
out a single scene or a single word, and do not 
fear for its success," said he at one of the re- 
hearsals ; and he was quite right. The piece had a 
tremendous success, and was played at one and the 
same time at three different Paris theatres, as 
well as at the Freie Buhnen in Berlin, where it 
had a similar triumph. After the accession of 
Nicholas II. it was acted in Russia, and took 
rank at once as one of the greatest masterpieces of 
Russian dramatic art, and as such holds a place in 
the repertory of the best Moscow and Petersburg 
theatres. 

Many Englishmen who have seen it have been 
immensely impressed by it. Laurence Irving 
wrote me : " I suppose England is the only country 
in Europe where The Power of Darkness has not 



i 4 PREFACE 

been acted. It ought to be done. It is a stupen- 
dous tragedy; the effect on the stage is unparal- 
leled." Bernard Shaw, writing to Tolstoy, said, 
" I remember nothing in the whole range of 
drama that fascinated me more than the old 
soldier in your Power of Darkness. One of the 
things that struck me in that play was the feeling 
that the preaching of the old man, right as he was, 
could never be of any use — that it could only 
anger his son and rub the last grains of self- 
respect out of him. But what the pious and good 
father could not dp, the old rascal of a soldier 
did as if he was the voice of God. To me that 
scene, where the two drunkards are wallowing in 
the straw and the older rascal lifts the younger 
one above his cowardice and his selfishness, has 
an intensity of effect that no merely romantic 
scene could possibly attain." Arthur Symons 
wrote : " More than any play I have ever seen, 
this astounding play of Tolstoy's seems to me to 
fulfil Aristotle's demand upon tragedy: ' Through 
pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of 
these emotions.' I had never read it; my im- 
pression was gained directly from seeing it on the 
stage. Well, though as I listened to it I felt the 



PREFACE i $ 

pity and fear to be almost insupportable, I left 
the theatre with a feeling of exultation, as I have 
left a concert room after hearing a piece of noble 
and tragic music. How out of such human dis- 
cords such a divine harmony can be woven I do 
not know; that is the secret of Tolstoy's genius, as 
it is the secret of the musician's. Here, achieved 
in terms of naked horror, I found some of the 
things that Maeterlinck has aimed at and never 
quite rendered through an atmosphere and through 
forms of vague beauty. And I found also an- 
other kind of achievement, by the side of which 
Ibsen's cunning adjustments of reality seemed 
either trivial or unreal. Here, for once, human 
life is islanded on the stage, a pin-point of light in 
an immense darkness; and the sense of that sur- 
rounding darkness is conveyed to us as in no other 
play that I have ever seen, by an awful sincerity 
and by an unparalleled simplicity. Whether Tol- 
stoy has learnt by instinct some stage-craft which 
playwrights have been toiling after in vain, or by 
what conscious and deliberate art he has supple- 
mented instinct, I do not know. But, out of hor- 
ror and humour, out of the dregs of human life 
and out of mere faith in those dregs, somehow, as 



16 PREFACE 

a man of genius does once in an age, Tolstoy has 
in this play made for us the great modern play, 
the great play of the nineteenth century." 

That Tolstoy should thus have begun success- 
ful play-writing at a time when he was supposed 
to have turned aside from art, and when he was 
nearly sixty years of age, was remarkable; but at 
any rate The Power of Darkness was a serious 
piece, obviously dealing with moral questions 
which stirred his soul profoundly at the time ; and, 
moreover, he wrote it for the People's Theatre, 
started to provide first-rate drama for the peas- 
ants. It came, therefore, as a yet greater sur- 
prise to many people when, three years later, he 
was persuaded by his daughters to write a comedy 
for them to perform at home, Yasnaya Polyana. 

One knows pretty well how it happened. The 
taste for play-writing was strong upon him. 
After more than twelve years devoted to didactic 
work which gave his sense of humour little or no 
scope, it was in the nature of things that he should 
feel some reaction. 

At first the play was to have been only a short 
two-act affair. He did not like to refuse his 
daughters' request, and thought that if they must 



PREFACE 17 

act something, it was better that they should act a 
play voicing his contempt for the follies and ex- 
travagance of society and his consciousness of the 
peasants' needs. Once started on the work, how- 
ever, it took hold of him and grew and grew, till 
it became a full-fledged four-act comedy with over 
thirty speaking characters in it, and with the 
didactic purpose overwhelmed by the fun, the 
bustle, and the stage-craft of it. 

After many rehearsals this play, Fruits of Cul- 
ture, was performed at Yasnaya Polyana on De- 
cember 30, 1889, with immense success. Tanya, 
Tolstoy's eldest daughter, took the part of her 
namesake in the play very successfully, and Mary, 
his second daughter, played the cook most admir- 
ably. 

Tolstoy himself heartily enjoyed the perform- 
ance. One greatly respects his thirty-year 
struggle to live a simple life, consuming little and 
giving much; but one does not love him the less 
for the occasional lapses into whole-hearted gaiety 
which light up the record of his life, and show 
us how very human was this giant. Yasnaya 
Polyana, on New Year's eve 1889, crammed with 
guests all in the highest spirits; the large upstairs 



1 8 PREFACE 

room full of spectators laughing till their sides 
ached at Tolstoy's comedy, is a scene those who 
would understand Tolstoy should by no means 
forget or despise. Yet, even then, the other side 
of his nature, which never let him rest, caused him 
to note in his Diary: " I am ashamed of all this 
expense in the midst of poverty." 

The whole company threw themselves into the 
piece with enthusiasm, and acted really well. In 
particular, V. M. Lopatin, a neighbouring Justice 
of the Peace, extracted from the part of the Third 
Peasant so much more than its author had antici- 
pated or even intended, that Tolstoy, in ecstasies, 
slapped his thighs and laughed till the tears rolled 
down his cheeks ; for he was always extremely sus- 
ceptible to anything really good, whether in acting 
or in other forms of art. 

I well remember meeting at Yasnaya Polyana, 
on two different occasions, the sculptor Ginzburg, 
who was an admirable mimic. He could keep a 
room full of people entranced while he enacted 
a Jew tailor stitching clothes, or a nurse tending 
or neglecting an imaginary baby. None of those 
present expressed warmer admiration of these per- 
formances than did Tolstoy himself, and when he 



PREFACE 19 

went for a walk with us afterwards, he said to 
Ginzburg with great animation : 

" Ah, if our theatre realists could only be got to 
understand that what is wanted is not to put real 
babies on the stage or show the real messes they 
make, but to convey, as you do, by voice and fea- 
ture the real feeling that has to be expressed! " 

No blunder made by Tolstoy's critics is more 
gratuitous or indefensible than the pretence that 
he was indifferent to the form of art, or demanded 
of it that it should always have a directly didactic 
intention. 

Not without express purpose did he, in What 
is Art? write, " Art is a means of union among 
men, joining them together in the same feelings, 
and indispensable for the life and progress 
towards well-being of individuals and of hu- 
manity " ; and he then goes on to say: " Thanks to 
man's capacity to be infected with the feelings of 
others by means of art, all that is being lived 
through by his contemporaries is accessible to him, 
as well as the feelings experienced by men 
thousands of years ago, and he has also the possi- 
bility of transmitting his own feelings to others." 

" If men lacked this capacity of being infected 



20 PREFACE 

by art, people would be more separated and hos- 
tile to one another, and more savage than wild 
beasts. Therefore, the activity of art is a most 
important one — as important as the activity of 
speech itself, and as generally diffused.'* And in 
a memorable passage he adds, " We are accus- 
tomed to understand art to be only what we hear 
and see in theatres, concerts, and exhibitions; to- 
gether with buildings, statues, poems, novels. 
. . , But all this is but the smallest part of the 
art by which we communicate with each other in 
life. All human life is filled with works of art of 
every kind — from cradle-song, jest, mimicry, the 
ornamentation of houses, dress, and utensils, up to 
church services, buildings, monuments, and tri- 
umphal processions. It is all artistic activity." 

He insists again and again on the value and 
prevalence of art, and when speaking of those 
primitive Christians and others who have wished 
to repudiate art, he says, " Evidently such people 
were wrong in repudiating all art, for they denied 
that which cannot be denied — one of the indis- 
pensable means of communication, without which 
mankind could not exist." 

Tolstoy knew very well that a performance 



PREFACE 21 

must be excellent in its form and method of ex- 
pression in order to be a work of art. In the 
illustration he gives of the performance of music, 
for instance, he says that for musical execution to 
be artistic and to transmit feeling, many condi- 
tions are necessary, of which the three chief are 
the pitch, the time, and the strength of the sound, 
and he adds: " Musical execution is only then art, 
only then infects, when the sound is neither higher 
nor lower than it should be — that is, when exactly 
the infinitely small centre of the required note is 
taken; when that note is continued exactly as long 
as needed; and when the strength of the sound is 
neither more nor less than is required. The 
slightest deviation of pitch in either direction, the 
slightest increase or decrease in time, or the 
slightest strengthening or weakening of the sound 
beyond what is needed, destroys the perfection 
and, consequently, the infectiousness of the work. 
So that the feeling of infection by the art of music, 
which seems so simple and so easily obtained, is a 
thing we receive only when the performer finds 
those infinitely minute degrees which are necessary 
to perfection in music. It is the same in all arts: 
a wee bit lighter, a wee bit darker, a wee bit 



22 PREFACE 

higher, lower, to the right or the left — in paint- 
ing; a wee bit weaker or stronger in intonation, or 
a wee bit sooner or later — in dramatic art; a wee 
bit omitted, over-emphasised, or exaggerated — 
in poetry, and there is no contagion. It is only 
obtained when an artist finds those infinitely minute 
degrees of which a work of art consists, and only 
to the extent to which he finds them." 

Confronted by words such as these, it is amaz- 
ing that any one can pretend that Tolstoy was in- 
different to quality in the forms of art; but not 
less amazing is the ^assertion that only what is 
directly moralising was considered by him fit 
subject-matter for art. On this point his words 
are decisive, when he includes among the subject- 
matter suitable for good art, " the simplest feel- 
ings of common life." 

The truth is that, in spite of certain preposses- 
sions which tend to confuse the matter, and in spite 
of his pugnacious controversial methods, which 
often led to recrimination rather than to elucida- 
tion, Tolstoy's greatness as an artist was increased 
by the fact that he thoroughly understood the aim 
and purpose of art; and he was able to speak with 
authority on the philosophy of art, just because he 



PREFACE 23 

was one of the most intellectual and intelligent of 
the world's artists. 

As mentioned in my Life of Tolstoy , the main 
theme in Fruits of Culture was drawn from Tol- 
stoy's acquaintance with the Lvovs, a wealthy and 
aristocratic family, the head of which wished to 
convert Tolstoy to spiritualism. The latter 
sturdily maintained a sceptical attitude, arguing 
that since mankind has been at the pains to dis- 
criminate between matter (which can be investi- 
gated by the five senses) and spirit (which is an 
affair of the conscience, and cannot be investi- 
gated by the senses), we must not again confuse 
the two by attempting to find physical evidence of 
spiritual existence. If the phenomena we are 
investigating is cognisable by the senses, then, he 
argued, such phenomena are, ipso facto, not 
spiritual, but material. In this, as in certain other 
matters, Tolstoy, seeking clearness, painted in 
black and white, and shunned those delicate shades 
which often elude and perplex us — but without 
which, after all, it is not always possible to get a 
true picture. 

Fruits of Culture found its way on to the public 
stage in Russia before The Power of Darkness, 



24 PREFACE 

and both there and abroad the two plays have been 
almost equally successful. It is often treated as 
pure comedy, and the peasants presented as simply 
comic characters. This Tolstoy did not intend, 
and did not like. He meant the hardness of their 
lot and their urgent need of land to stand out in 
sharp contrast to the waste of wealth by the cul- 
tured crowd. 

During the last thirty years of his life Tolstoy 
himself used, as is well known, to dress much like 
a peasant, though never in the beggar-pilgrim 
garb in which he is made to figure in a Life of him 
recently published in this country; and it happened 
that one winter's day, when Fruits of Culture was 
being rehearsed in Tula (the nearest town to Yas- 
naya Polyana), he went, by request, to the hall 
where it was being staged. Wearing his rough 
sheepskin overcoat, he attempted to enter, but was 
roughly shoved out by the doorkeeper, who told 
him it was no place for the likes of him ! 

The same year the play was presented at Tsar- 
skoe Selo, by amateurs drawn from the high- 
est circles of Court society, and was witnessed 
by a dozen Grand Dukes and Grand-Duchesses 
as well as by the Tsar himself, who warmly 



PREFACE 25 

thanked the performers for the pleasure it 
had given him. So the whirligig of time brought 
it about that Tolstoy, who twenty-three years be- 
fore had just missed his chance of acting at the 
Imperial Court, now had a play of his own per- 
formed there, while he himself was being mistaken 
for a peasant, and on that account treated with 
gross indignity. 

We have Tolstoy's word for it that he would 
have written more plays had it not been for the 
censor. He once said, " I feel certain the censor 
would not pass my plays. You would not believe 
how, from the very commencement of my activity, 
that horrible censor question has tormented me! 
I wanted to write what I felt; but at the same time 
it occurred to me that what I wrote would not 
be permitted, and involuntarily I had to abandon 
the work. I abandoned, and went on abandoning, 
and meanwhile the years passed away." 

He once expressed surprise that, in Fruits of 
Culture, the drunken man-cook's monologue on the 
ways of the rich folk was allowed to be performed. 

Of the three plays left by Tolstoy for publi- 
cation after his death, one is a short two-act Tem- 
perance play called in English The Cause of it All 



26 PREFACE 

(the Russian title is a colloquialism difficult to ren- 
der, but " From it all evil flows " is as near as 
one can get to it) . It does not claim to be a piece 
of much importance, but if ever it is staged, it 
should act easily and well. 

Another of these posthumous plays is The Man 
That Was Dead (The Live Corpse), a powerful 
piece, in which Tolstoy introduces one of those 
gipsy choirs which had such an influence on him 
(and still more on his brother Sergius) when he 
was a young man of twenty to twenty-three, before 
he went to the Caucasus and entered the army. 

The position of the gipsy choirs in Russia is 
a peculiar one. Reputedly Egyptian in origin 
(" Pharaoh's Tribe," one of the characters in the 
play calls them), they live a life quite distinct 
from that of the Russians, yet not at all resem- 
bling that of the itinerant gipsies one meets travel- 
ling about with caravans in England. They 
possess a remarkable musical talent, having a kind 
of music both vocal and instrumental all their 
own. They perform at special restaurants in the 
suburbs of Moscow, and also give concerts in pub- 
lic halls and at private houses. It is no more 
unusual for Russian noblemen to marry gipsy girls 



PREFACE 27 

than it is for English noblemen to marry Gaiety 
girls. The songs referred to in Scene 11 are all 
well-known gipsy songs, and if staged with a real 
gipsy choir to perform them, this should be one of 
the most striking scenes in the play. 

Tolstoy himself held that gipsy music deserved 
to rank among the best kinds of music, on account 
of its genuine spontaneity, the depth of feeling in 
it, and the exquisite perfection with which it is 
rendered by the gipsies. His own daughters used 
to play and sing gipsy songs admirably. 

The main plot of this play, like that of The 
Power of Darkness, was supplied to Tolstoy by 
his friend N. V. Davydov, a Judge and a Lecturer 
on criminal law at Moscow University, who fre- 
quently drew his attention to cases that occurred 
in the Law Courts, and which Davydov thought 
might provide suitable subjects for a story or a 
drama. 

Curiously enough, after Tolstoy had written 
this play, he was visited first by the stepson of the 
" live corpse," and then by the " live corpse " him- 
self. The latter had been convicted, had served 
his time, and had returned to Moscow. He had 
given up drink and was seeking means of subsist- 



28 PREFACE 

ence, when he heard of the play Tolstoy was writ- 
ing, and that it was founded on his own case. 
Tolstoy questioned him carefully, and as a result 
of the conversation rewrote the play in order to 
set the conduct of the corpse in a more favourable 
light than before. In this revised version Tol- 
stoy makes him finally commit suicide, whereas in 
an earlier version the law took its course as it did 
in real life, and matters only settled down and 
adjusted themselves after his victims had served 
their sentences and justice had ceased to meddle. 

Tolstoy also gave the " corpse " a letter to 
Davydov, who obtained for him some small post 
at the Law Courts, where he served till his death; 
no one but his benefactors and his own family 
knowing who he was. Some time after his death 
Davydov told me this about him. 

Part of the attraction of the story for Tolstoy 
lay in the fact that the intervention of the law did 
no good to any one, but only harm to all con- 
cerned; for it was part and parcel of Tolstoy's 
non-resistant theory that Law Courts and the 
Administration of justice are purely noxious. 

The Man That Was Dead has already been 
staged at the Artistic Theatre in Moscow, and it 



PREFACE 29 

is to be hoped that we shall see it in London; but 
the last of Tolstoy's plays, The Light That Shines 
in Darkness, was left unfinished, and is hardly 
likely to be produced, unless by the Stage Society, 
or some similar organisation. In Russia it is pro- 
hibited on account of its allusions to the refusal of 
military service. 

Yet it is in some ways the most interesting of 
Tolstoy's posthumous works. It is obviously not 
strictly autobiographical, for Tolstoy was not 
assassinated as the hero of the piece is, nor was 
his daughter engaged to be married to a young 
prince who refused military service. But like 
some of his other writings, the play is semi-autobi- 
ographical. In it, not only has Tolstoy utilised 
personal experiences, but more than that, he 
answers the question so often asked: Why, hold- 
ing his views, did he not free himself from 
property before he grew old? 

Some people, and especially some of those most 
devoted to Tolstoy's memory, are sure to suppose 
and to declare that he intends Nicholas Ivanovich 
Sarintsev to be taken as a faithful portrait of him- 
self. But to understand Tolstoy one has to recog- 
nise the duality of his character, which he never 



3 o PREFACE 

concealed and often mentioned; and the hero of 
The Light That Shines in Darkness has none of 
this duality. He represents only one side of Tol- 
stoy, and is not at all the sort of man, for instance, 
who would have written or enjoyed Fruits of Cul- 
ture. 

Not only are the facts different to the real ones, 
and the character of the hero much simpler than 
Tolstoy's own, but the problem at issue between 
Sarintsev and his wife is not quite the same as the 
one at issue between Tolstoy and the Countess. 
With that unerring artistic tact which Tolstoy 
never lost, he causes Nicholas Ivanovich Sarintsev 
to make a definite proposal to retain " fifty acres 
and the kitchen garden and the flooded meadow," 
which would " bring in about £50 a year." Now 
what in real life most frightened the Countess, 
was not that she was asked to accept poverty, but 
that she was asked to manage a household in which 
there should be no limit to the giving up. 

Tolstoy held, as he says in The Demands of 
Love, that if people begin giving up and set any 
limits thereto, then " life will be hell, or will be- 
come hell, if they are not hypocrites. . . . 
Where and how can one stop? Only those will 



PREFACE 31 

find a stopping-place who are strangers to the feel- 
ing of the reality of the brotherhood of man, or 
who are so accustomed to lie that they no longer 
notice the difference between truth and falsehood. 
The fact is, no such stopping-place can exist. 
. . . If you give the beggar your last shillings, 
you will be left without bread to-morrow; but to 
refuse means to turn from that for the sake of 
which one lives.' , 

Had that point, and the need of admitting to 
one's cottage " the tramp with his lice and his 
typhus," and giving away the children's last cup 
of milk, been pressed home in the play as it was 
in Tolstoy's teaching, some of the readers' sympa- 
thy would go over to the side of the wife called on 
to face such conditions for herself and her family; 
and that is why Tolstoy's artistic instinct in- 
duced him to introduce a definite proposal quite 
at variance with the demands of his own teach- 
ing. 

And again, the conflict in the play is be- 
tween the husband on the one side and the wife 
and family on the other. There is no mention of 
a friend urging the husband on in opposition to 
the wife. Those who closely followed Tolstoy's 



32 PREFACE 

own fate well know that on this point also the play 

does not describe his own case. 

Not the less on that account does the play most 
touchingly present to us the intense tragedy of 
Tolstoy's later years, and the impossibility in 
which he found himself of acting so as neither to 
violate his own conscience nor to evoke anger in 
the hearts of those nearest to him. His religion 
had brought " not peace, but a sword "; and it was 
because he believed in it so firmly, and yet shrank 
from treating those of his own household as his 
foes, that his struggle was so intense, and that for 
more than thirty years he hesitated before he de- 
cided to leave wife and home, the scenes endeared 
to him by childhood's memory, and the spot where 
he hoped to be (and eventually was) buried — the 
spot where his brother had hidden the green stick 
on which he said was inscribed the secret of how 
to banish from the world all sin, bitterness, dis- 
cord, and evil « — all, in short, that makes us sad or 
sorry. 

Plays Tolstoy found more difficult to write than 
stories or novels; for in the novel or story it is 
possible to stop and explain, and gradually to pre- 



PREFACE 33 

pare an incident or develop a character, whereas 
in a play the situations and clash of characters and 
wills have to be presented ripe and ready. 
Novel-writing he compared to painting, in which 
many shades may be employed; plays he compared 
to sculpture, where all must be clear-cut, definite, 
and compact. 

He often remarked that subjects suitable for 
novels are not suitable for plays and vice versa; 
and he expressed satisfaction that he had never 
been obliged to witness the dramatised versions of 
Resurrection or of Anna Karenina which have 
been staged. He had nothing at all to do with 
those productions, and quite disapproved of them. 

Of his plays in general Tolstoy once remarked 
to me: "When writing them I never anticipated 
the importance that has been attributed to them." 
While he fully recognised, and perhaps at times 
overrated, the value of his didactic and propa- 
gandist writings, he was often inclined to under- 
rate the value of the artistic work which during 
his later years he sometimes undertook more or 
less as a recreation, and on that account was the 
more ready to treat lightly. It was mentioned 
by the Editor in the first volume of these Posthu- 



34 PREFACE 

mous Works of Tolstoy's, the translations were 
chosen by an agent of the executors; and I am 
responsible only for the novel Hadjo-Murad which 
will appear in the third volume. 

AYLMER MAUDE. 



THE LIGHT THAT SHINES IN 
DARKNESS 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 

Nicholas Ivanovich Sarintsev. 
Marie Ivanovna (Masha), his wife. 

LuBA (LUBOV NICOLAEVNA), J ^ 

MlSSIE, j & 

Stephen, 1 . . 

TT ' y their sons. 

Vania, J 

Mitrofan Dmitrich. Tutor to Vania. 

Alexandra Ivanovna. Sister to Marie Ivan- 
ovna. 

Peter Semenovich Kokhovtsev. Her husband. 

Lisa. Their daughter. 

Princess Cheremshanov. 

Boris. Her son. 

Tonia. Her daughter. 

Father Vasily (Vasily Ermilovich). A vil- 
lage priest. 

Father Gerasim. 

Alexis Mikhailovich Starkovsky. 

Nurse and Footmen in Sarintsev's house. 

Ivan, 

Sebastian, _> 

Ephraim, 

Peter, 

A Peasant Woman. Ivan's wife. 



38 DRAMATIS PERSONS 

MALASHKA. Ivan's daughter. 

Alexander Petrovich. A tramp. 

A country Police Sergeant. 

Lawyer. 

Yakov. Carpenter. 

Clerk. 

Sentries. 

General. 

Colonel. 

Aide-de-camp. 

Soldiers. 

Police Officer:. 

Stenographer. 

Chaplain. 

Patients in Hospital'. 

Sick Officer. 

Head Physician. 

House Surgeon. 

Warders. 

Countess and other Guests at Sarintsev's dance, 

Pianist. 



ACT I 

The stage represents a covered veranda in a rich 
country-house. In front of the veranda are a 
flower garden, a tennis ground, and a croquet 
lawn. The children with their governess are play- 
ing croquet. On the veranda are seated: Marie 
IVANOVNA Sarintsev, a handsome, elegant 
woman of forty; her sister Alexandra Ivanovna 
KOKHOVTSEV, a fat, positive, and stupid woman 
of forty-jive: and her husband, Peter Semeno 
VICH Kokhovtsev, a fat, stout, clumsy man of 
slovenly appearance, wearing a summer suit and 
eye-glasses. They all sit at a table laid for break- 
fast with samovar and coffee. All are drinking, 
coffee; Peter Semenovich is smoking. 

Alexandra. 
If you were not my sister, and Nicholas Ivano- 
vich were not your husband, but merely an 
acquaintance, I should find all this novel and 
charming, and should perhaps uphold him. I 
should have found it very nice. But when I see 
your husband playing the fool, simply playing 
the fool, I cannot help telling you what I think 
of it. And I shall tell him too, that husband 
of yours. I shall speak straight out to dear 
Nicholas. I am not afraid of anybody. 

39 



4 o THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 

I do not mind in the least: I see it myself. But 
I really do not think it is as important as all that. 

Alexandra. 

You may not think so; but I assure you, if 
you let it go on, you will all be beggared. That 
is what will come of this sort of thing. . . . 

Peter. 
Beggared, indeed ! With their fortune ! 

Alexandra. 

* 

Yes, beggared. Don't interrupt me. Of 
course, you always think that anything a man does 
is right. 

Peter. 

I don't know. I only say. . . ,. 

Alexandra. 

You never know what you are talking about, 
and when once you men begin your nonsense, 
there is no knowing where it will end. All I say 
is, that if I were in your place, I should not allow 
it. I should have put a stop to all this. I never 
heard of such a thing. The husband, the head 
of the family, does nothing, neglects his affairs, 
gives everything away, and plays the bountiful 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 41 

right and left. I know how it will end. I know 
all about it. 

Peter. 
(to Marie Ivanovna.) Do explain to me, 
Marie, what this new fad of his is. There are 
Liberals, County Councils, the Constitution 
Schools, reading-rooms and all the rest of it — I 
understand all that. Then there are Socialists, 
strikes, an eight-hour day — I understand that too. 
But what is all this? Do explain. 

Marie. 
He told you all about it yesterday. 

Peter. 
I own that I could not understand. The Gos- 
pel, the Sermon on the Mount, that churches are 
unnecessary. But where are we to pray, and all 
that? 

Marie. 
That is the worst of it. He would destroy 
everything and put nothing in its place. 

Peter. 
How did it begin? 

Marie. 
It began last year, when his sister died. He 
became very gloomy, perpetually spoke of death, 



42 THE LIGHT THAT 

and then fell ill, as you know. And after his 
typhoid fever he changed entirely. 

Alexandra. 
Still he came to see us in Moscow in the spring, 
and he was very amiable and played cards. He 
was very nice and quite normal. 

Marie. 
Yes, but he was not the same. 

Peter. 
In what way? 

* Marie. 
He was perfectly indifferent to his family, and 
the New Testament had become an obsession. 
He read it all day; at night he got up to read 
it instead of sleeping, making notes and copying 
out passages. Then he began to visit bishops and 
aged monks, to discuss religion. 

Alexandra. 

Did he go to confession and take the sacra- 
ment? 

Marie. 

Before that he had not done so since his mar- 
riage, that is for twenty-five years. But at the 
time I am speaking of he confessed and took com- 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 43 

munion at the monastery, and immediately after- 
ward decided it was unnecessary to confess, or 
even to go to church at all. 

Alexandra. 

You see how inconsistent he is. A month ago 
he went to church and kept all the fasts ; now sud- 
denly he thinks all that is useless. 

Marie. 

Well, talk to him yourself. 

Alexandra.. 

I will; indeeH I will. 

Peter. 

All that does not matter much. 

Alexandra. 

It seems to you that it does not matter, because 
men have no religion. 

Peter. 

Do let me speak. I say that that is not the 
point. If he denies the Church, where does the 
New Testament come in? 

Marie. 
He says we are to live in accordance with the 
Sermon on the Mount, and give everything away. 



44 THE LIGHT THAT 

Peter. 

How are we to live ourselves if we give every- 
thing away? 

Alexandra. 

And where does the Sermon on the Mount 
order us to shake hands with our footmen? It 
says " blessed are the meek," but there is not a 
word about shaking hands. 

Marie. 

Of course he is fanatical in this, as he always 
is when he takes up anything. At one time it 
was music, then schools. . . . But that does 
not make it any easier for me. 

Peter. 

Why has he gone to town? 

Marie. 

He did not tell me, but I know he has gone 
to attend the hearing of the timber-stealing case. 
The peasants cut down some of our forest. 

Peter. 
Those big fir-trees ? 

Marie. 
Yes. They were condemned to pay for them, 
and sentenced to imprisonment, and their appeal 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 45 

is to be heard to-day. I am sure that is why he 
went. 

Alexandra. 
He will forgive them, and to-morrow they will 
come and chop down all the trees in his park. 

Marie. 
They seem to be beginning already. All the 
apple trees are broken, and the fields trampled. 
He forgives it all. 

Peter. 
How extraordinary! 

Alexandra. 
That is exactly why I say that you must inter- 
fere. If it continues much longer — everything 
will go. I think it is your duty as a mother to 
take some steps. 

Marie. 
What can I do? 

Alexandra. 

What can you do, indeed? Put a stop to it, 
make him understand that it is impossible. You 
have children. What an example to set them! 

Marie. 
It is hard, but I try to bear it, and to hope that 



46 THE LIGHT THAT 

this will pass as all his other infatuations have 
done. 

Alexandra. 
Yes ; but God helps those who help themselves. 
You must make him feel that he is not alone, and 
that he is not living in the proper way. 

Marie. 
* The worst of it all is that he takes no interest 
in the children. I have to settle everything by 
myself. On the one hand I have a baby, and on 
the other, grown-up children — a girl and a boy 
■• — who both need attention and guidance, and I am 
alone. He used to be such a careful and tender 
father. Now he does not care about anything. 
Last night I told him Vania was lazy and had 
failed again in his examinations, and he said it 
would be much better for him to leave school 
altogether. 

Peter. 
Where would he send him? 

Marie. 
Nowhere. That is the horrible part of it. 
Everything is wrong, but he does not say what we 
are to do. 

Peter. 
How strange ! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 47 

Alexandra. 
Not at all strange. It is just the usual way you 
men have of finding fault with everything and do- 
ing nothing yourselves. 

Marie. 

Stephen has finished his studies and must decide 
what he is going to do, but his father will not say 
anything to him about it. He wanted to enter 
the Civil Service — his father said it was useless; 
he wanted to enter the Horse Guards — Nicholas 
Ivanovich disapproved. The boy asked what he 
was to do, and his father asked why he did not 
go and plough : that would be far better than the 
Civil Service. What is he to do? He comes to 
me for advice, and I have to decide. But the 
means of carrying out any plan are in his father's 
hands. 

Alexandra. 

You ought to tell Nicholas so plainly. 

Marie. 
Yes ; I must talk to him. 

Alexandra. 
Tell him plainly that you cannot stand it: that 
you do your duty and that he must do his. 
Otherwise, he had better make the property over 
to you. 



48 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
Oh ! that is so unpleasant. 

Alexandra. 
I will tell him, if you like. I will tell him so 
straight out. 

(A young priest enters, somewhat 
shy and nervous. He carries a book 
and shakes hands with all present.) 

Father Vasily. 
I have come to see Nicholas Ivanovich. I've 
* — I've brought back a book. 

• Marie. 
He has gone to town, but he will soon return. 

Alexandra. 
What book did he lend you? 

Father Vasily. 
It is Renan — yes — a book ■ — the Life of 
Jesus. 

Peter. 
Oh ! what a book for you to read. 

Alexandra. 
(contemptuously.) Did Nicholas Ivanovich give 
you that to read? Well, do you agree with 
Nicholas Ivanovich, and with Monsieur Renan? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 49 

Father Vasily. 
{excited, lighting a cigarette.) Yes, Nicholas 
Ivanovich gave it to me to read. Of course I do 
not agree with it. If I did I should not be, so to 
speak, a servant of the Church. 

Alexandra. 
And since you are, so to speak, a true servant 
of the Church, why don't you convert Nicholas 
Ivanovich ? 

Father Vasily. 
Everybody, if I may say so, has his own views 
on these subjects. And Nicholas Ivanovich, if I 
may say so, says much that is true. But on the 
main point he is in error concerning er * — er — er 
— the Church. 

Alexandra. 
And what are the true things that Nicholas 
Ivanovich says? Is it true that the Sermon on 
the Mount bids us give away our possessions to 
strangers, and let our family be beggars? 

Father Vasily. 
The family is, so to speak, held sacred in the 
Church, and the fathers of the Church have be- 
stowed their blessing on the family, haven't they? 
But the highest perfection requires — well, yes, 
requires renunciation of earthly goods. 



50 THE LIGHT THAT 

Alexandra. 
That is all very well for saints, but ordinary 
mortals ought simply to act like good Christians. 

Father Vasily. 
Nobody can tell what he was sent to earth for. 

Alexandra. 
You are married, I suppose? 

Father Vasily. 
Certainly. 

Alexandra. 
And have you got any children? 

Father Vasily. 
Yes, two. 

Alexandra. 
Then why don't you renounce earthly joys in- 
stead of smoking cigarettes? 

Father Vasily. 
It is, I may say, owing to my weakness and my 
unworthiness that I do not. 

Alexandra. 
It seems to me that instead of bringing Nicholas 
Ivanovich to his senses, you are upholding him. 
I tell you frankly it is not right. 

(Enter Nurse.) 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 51 

Nurse. 
Don't you hear baby crying? Please come to 
him. 

Marie. 

I'm coming — I'm coming. (Exit.) 

Alexandra. 

I am so sorry for my sister. I see how she 
suffers. It is no easy matter to manage a house- 
hold — seven children, and one of them a baby at 
the breast. And he with his new-fangled theories 
s — I really think he is not quite right here (points 
to her head.) Now tell me truly, what is this 
new religion you have discovered? 

Father Vasily. 
I don't quite understand, if I may say so. 

Alexandra. 
Please do not pretend you do not understand. 
[You know perfectly well what I am asking. 

Father Vasily. 
But, pardon me — - 

Alexandra. 
I ask you what this creed is, according to which 
you must shake hands with all peasants, allow 
them to cut down your forest, give them money 
for drink, and forsake your own family. 



62 THE LIGHT THAT 

Father Vasily, 
I do not know. 

Alexandra. 
He says it is the Christian teaching. JYou are a 
priest of the Orthodox Church. Therefore, you 
ought to know and ought to say whether the 
Christian teaching encourages stealing. 

Father Vasily. 

Butlr-, 

Alexandra. 
Otherwise, why do you call yourself a priest, 
and wear long hair and a cassock? 

Father Vasily. 
But we are never asked such things. 

Alexandra. 
Really? Well I ask you? Yesterday Nicholas 
Ivanovich said the Gospel command is: " Give to 
every man that asks." How is that to be inter- 
preted? 

Father Vasily. 
I think in the simplest sense. 

Alexandra. 
I do not think so at all. I think it means, as 
we were always taught, that everybody has what 
God has given him. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 53 

Father Vasily. 
Of course, but still — 

Alexandra. 
It is quite evident that you are on his side. I 
was told you were ; and it is very wrong of you, I 
tell you quite frankly. If it were some school- 
mistress, or some boy who accepted his every word 
— but you, in your position, ought to understand 
what your responsibilities are. 

Father Vasily. 
I try to. 

Alexandra. 
How can he be called religious when he does 
not go to church, and does not recognise the sacra- 
ments? And you, instead of bringing him to 
reason, read Renan with him, and interpret the 
Gospel as you like. 

Father Vasily. 
(agitated.) I cannot answer. I am — I am? — t 
amazed, and would rather not say anything. 

Alexandra. 
Oh 1 if I were a bishop I would teach you to read 
Renan and smoke cigarettes. 

Peter. 
Stop, for Heaven's sake! By what right — ? 



54 THE LIGHT THAT 

Alexandra. 
Please don't lecture me. I am sure Father 
Vasily does not mind. Well, I have said all I had 
to say. It would be much worse if I had any ill- 
feeling. Is not that so ? 

Father Vasily. 
Pardon me if I have expressed myself badly — 
pardon me. (Awkward silence.) 

(Enter Luba and Lisa.) 
(Luba, the daughter of Marie 
Ivanovna, is a pretty, energetic girl 
of twenty. Lisa, the daughter of 
Alexandra Ivanovna, is older. 
Both wear shawls on their heads, and 
carry baskets — they are going mush- 
rooming in the woods. They greet 
Alexandra Ivanovna, Peter Se- 
MENOVICH, and the priest.) 

Luba. 
Where is mother? 

Alexandra. 
She has just gone to nurse the baby. 

Peter. 
Mind you bring back plenty of mushrooms. 
A village girl brought some beauties this morning. 
I would go with you, but it is so hot. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 55 

Lisa. 
Do come, father. 

Alexandra. 
Yes, do go. You are getting too fat. 

Peter. 
[Very well. But I must get some cigarettes. 

(Exit.) 

Alexandra. 
Where are all the other young people ? 

Luba. 
Stephen has gone to the station on his bicycle; 
Metrofan Alexandrovich has gone to town with 
father; the little ones are playing croquet; and 
Vania is romping with the dogs in the porch. 

Alexandra. 
Has Stephen come to any decision? 

Luba. 
Yes, he is going to enlist as a volunteer. He 
was horribly rude to father yesterday. 

Alexandra. 
Well, he has a good deal to bear. Even a 
worm will turn. The boy wants to begin life, and 
he is told to go and plough. 



56 THE LIGHT THAT 

LUBA. 

Father did not say that. He said . . . 
Alexandra. 

It makes no difference. The boy must make a 
start, and whatever he proposes is found fault 
with. OK there he is! 

(Enter Stephen on bicycle.) 

Alexandra. 

Talk of an angel and you hear his wings. We 
were just speaking of you. Luba says that you 
did not speak nicely to your father yesterday. 

Stephen. 

Not at all. Nothing particular happened. He 
expressed his opinion, and I expressed mine. It 
is not my fault if our views do not agree. Luba; 
understands nothing, and is always ready to criti- 
cise. 

Alexandra. 

What did you decide? 

Stephen. 

I don't know what father decided. I'm afraid 
he does not know himself; but I have made up my 
mind to join the Horse Guards as a volunteer. 
It is only in our house that difficulties are raised 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 57 

about everything. It is quite simple. I have 
finished my studies ; I have got to do my military 
service. It would be unpleasant to serve in the 
army with coarse, drunken officers, so I shall join 
the Guards, where I have friends. 

Alexandra. 
Why did your father object? 

Stephen. 
Father? Oh, what's the good of talking about 
him. He is infatuated with his idee -fixe, and sees 
only what he wants to see. He says that the 
military is the most dastardly of all the services, 
therefore I ought not to serve, and therefore he 
gives me no money. 

Lisa. 
No, Stephen, that was not what he said. I was 
there. He said that if it is impossible to get out 
of it, one should at least wait till one is called as 
a recruit, but that to volunteer is to choose that 
service oneself. 

Stephen. 
It is I, not he, who will serve. He was an 
officer himself. 

Lisa. 
He did not say that he would not give you 



58 THE LIGHT THAT 

money, but that he could not participate in a 
matter that was contrary to all his principles. 

Stephen. 

Principles have nothing to do with it. IVe got 
to serve, and there's an end of it. 

Lisa. 

I only said what I heard. 

Stephen. 

I know. You agree with father in everything. 
Auntie, did you know that? Lisa is always on 
father's side. 

Lisa. 

When it is a question of justice. 

Alexandra. 

Oh, I know Lisa is always on the side of non- 
sense. She has a knack of finding it. She scents 
it from afar. 

(Enter Vania. He runs on to 
the veranda in a red blouse, accom- 
panied by the dogs, with a telegram 
in his hand.) 

Vania. 
{to Luba.) Guess who is coming! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 59 

LUBA. 
Why should I guess? Give me the telegram. 
(Stretches out her hand for it, Vania holds it 
out of her reach,) 

Vania. 
I won't give it to you, and I won't tell you. It 
is some one who will make you blush. 

Luba. 
Nonsense! Who is it from? 

Vania. 
Aha! You are blushing, you are! Aunt 
Aline, isn't it true that she's blushing? 

LUBA. 

What nonsense ! Aunt Aline, who is it from ? 

Alexandra. 
The Cheremshanovs. 

Luba. 
Oh! 

[Vania. 

"Oh!" indeed. Why are you blushing? 

Luba. 

Auntie, show me the telegram. (Reads.) 
"Arrive by mail train; all three. — Cheremsha- 



60 THE LIGHT THAT 

novs." That means the princess, Boris, and 
Tonia. Well, I am very glad. 

Vania. 

Of course you are very glad. Stephen, see 
how she's blushing. 

Stephen. 

Oh, drop it. You keep on saying the same 
thing over and over again. 

Vania. 

You say that because you're a bit smitten by 
Tonia yourself. 'You'll have to draw lots, be- 
cause sister and brother may not marry brother 
and sister. 

Stephen. 

Don't talk such rubbish. You'd better be 
careful. I've warned you several times. 

Lisa. 

If they come by the mail train they ought to 
be here directly. 

Luba. 

That's true. Then we had better not go out. 
(Enter Peter Semenovich with 
cigarettes.) 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 61 

LUBA. 

Uncle Peter, we are not going. 

Peter. 
Why? 

LUBA. 

The Cheremshanovs will be here directly. We 
had better have one set at tennis before they ar- 
rive. Stephen, will you play? 

Stephen. 

All right. 

Luba. 

Vania and I against you and Lisa. Agreed? 
Well, then, I'll go and get the balls and call the 
village children. (Exit.) 

Peter. 
So much for my walk. 

Father Vasily. 
(rising to go.) Good-bye. 

Alexandra. 

Oh, wait a little, Father Vasily. I want to 
talk to you, and Nicholas Ivanovich will soon be 
here. 



62 THE LIGHT THAT 

Father Vasily. 

(sits down and lights another cigarette.) He 
may be some time yet. 

Alexandra. 
A carriage has just driven up; I expect it is 
he. 

Peter. 
Which Princess Cheremshanov is it? Is it 
possible that her maiden name was Golitsine? 

Alexandra. 
Yes, yes, that nice Princess Cheremshanov who 
lived in Rome with* her aunt. 

Peter. 
I shall be glad to see her. I have not seen her 
since the time when we used to sing duets to- 
gether in Rome. She sang very well. She has 
two children, I believe. 

Alexandra. 
Yes, and they are both coming with her. 

Peter. 
I did not know they were so intimate with the 
Sarintsevs. 

Alexandra. 
They are not intimate; but they were abroad 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 63 

together last year, and I believe that the princess 
has designs on Luba for her son. She knows a 
thing or two. 

Peter. 
The Cheremshanovs were rich themselves. 

Alexandra. 

They were. The prince is still alive, but he 
has dissipated his fortune, and has taken to drink. 
She petitioned the Tsar, saved a few crumbs, and 
left him. But she brought up her children splen- 
didly. The daughter is an excellent musician, 
and the son went through the university, and is 
very nice. Still I do not think Masha is par- 
ticularly pleased. This is not a time for guests. 
Ah, there is Nicholas. 

{Enter Nicholas Ivanovich.) 

Nicholas. 

Good morning, Aline. Hallo! Peter Seme- 
nov. {To the priest.) How do you do, Vasily 
Ermilovich. {He shakes hands.) 

Alexandra. 

There is some coffee here. Shall I pour it out? 
It is not very hot, but it can be warmed up. {She 
rings.) 



64 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
No, thank you. I have had breakfast. 
Where is Masha? 

Alexandra. 
She is nursing the baby. 

Nicholas. 
Is she well? 

Alexandra. 

Pretty well. Have you done all your busi- 
ness? 

Nicholas. 

Yes. I think I will have some tea or some 
coffee if there is any. (To the priest.) Have 
you brought the book? Have you read it? I 
have been thinking about you all the way. 

(Enter footman; bows. NICHO- 
LAS shakes hands with him.) 

Alexandra. 

(shrugging her shoulders, and exchanging glances 
with her husband.) Heat up the samovar, 
please. 

Nicholas. 

Never mind, Aline. I do not want anything, 
and if I do, I can drink it as it is. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 6$ 

MlSSIE. 
(seeing her father, runs from the croquet ground, 
and clasps her arms around his neck*) Father, 
come along. 

Nicholas. 
(fondling her.) Directly, directly. Let me 
have something to drink. Go and play. I will 
come soon. (Sits down at the table, drinks tea, 
and eats.) 

Alexandra. 
Were they found guilty? 

Nicholas. 
Yes. They pleaded guilty. (To the priest.) 
I imagine Renan did not convince you. 

Alexandra. 

But you disagreed with the verdict? 

Nicholas. 

(annoyed.) Of course I did. (To priest.) 
The main question for you lies, not in the divinity 
of Christ, not in the history of Christianity, but in 
the Church . . . 

Alexandra. 

How was that? They confessed themselves: 
you gave them the lie. They were not stealing, 
only taking . . . 



66 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
(begins speaking to the priest, then turning decid- 
edly to Alexandra Ivanovna.) My dear 
Aline, do not worry me with innuendos and pin- 
pricks. 

Alexandra. 
I am not doing anything of the sort. 

Nicholas. 
If you really want to know why I cannot 
prosecute the peasants for cutting down some 
trees which they badly needed. . . . 

Alexandra. 
I dare say they need this samovar also. 

Nicholas. 
Well, if you want me to tell you why I cannot 
allow men to be imprisoned for felling ten trees 
in a wood that is considered mine. . . . 

Alexandra. 
Considered so by every one. 

Peter. 
There you are, arguing again. I shall go out 
with the dogs. (He leaves the veranda.) 

Nicholas. 
Even supposing I were to consider that wood 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 67 

mine — though that is impossible — we have 
2,250 acres of forest, with approximately 200 
trees on each — I think that makes about 450,000 
in all. They felled 10 — that is 45 * - part. 
Well, is it worth while, is it possible, to drag a 
man away from his family and put him in prison 
for such a thing? 

Stephen. 
Well, if you don't prosecute for this 450 1 00 part, 
the rest of the 45,000 will also soon be felled. 

Nicholas. 
I only gave that answer in reply to your aunt. 
In reality, I have no right to this forest. The 
land belongs to all — that is, to no individual — 
and we personally have never done a stroke of 
work on it. 

Stephen. 

Oh, no ! You saved up, and you looked after 
the land. 

Nicholas. 
How did I get enough to save up, and when 
did I ever look after the forest myself? But 
there ! you can't prove such things to a man who 
feels no shame in injuring others. 

Stephen. 
No one is injuring others. 



68 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 

If he is not ashamed of being idle • — of living 
on the labour of others — it cannot be proved, 
and all the political economy you learnt at the 
university only serves to justify your position. 

Stephen. 
On the contrary, science destroys all prejudices. 

Nicholas. 

Well, that does not matter. What does matter 
to me is the fact that if I were in Ephim's place, 
I should do just what he did; and having done it 
I should be in despair if I were imprisoned, and 
therefore, since I would do unto others as I would 
be done by, I cannot prosecute him, and must do 
my best to get him off. 

Peter. 
But, in that case, it is not possible to 
own anything. 

v. Alexandra. 

^ Then it is much more profitable to steal 
£4 than to work. 

Stephen. 
You never answer one's arguments. I 
say that he who economises has a right to 
use his savings. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 69 

Nicholas. 
(smiling.) I do not know which of you to 
answer, (to Peter.) It is not possible to own 
anything. 

Alexandra. 
If that is so, one cannot have clothes or a crust 
of bread. One must give up everything, and life 
becomes impossible. 

Nicholas. 
It is impossible to live as we live. 

Stephen. 
Then we must die. Therefore that teaching is 
no good for life. 

Nicholas. 
On the contrary, it is given only for life. Yes, 
we must relinquish everything — not only a for- 
est by which we profit, though we have never 
seen it, but we should give up our clothes and our 
bread even. 

Alexandra. 
And the children's bread also? 

Nicholas. 
Yes, the children's also — and not bread only 
— we must give up ourselves. That is the whole 
teaching of Christ. We must use all our efforts 
to give up ourselves. 



7 o THE LIGHT THAT 

Stephen. 
To die, therefore? 

Nicholas. 
Yes, if you die for others it would be good 
both for yourself and for others; but the fact re- 
mains that man is not simply a spirit, but a spirit 
in the flesh; and the flesh impels us to live for 
self, while the enlightened spirit urges us to live 
for God, for others; and the result of this con- 
flict makes us take a middle course. The nearer 
we attain to God the better. Therefore the more 
we try to live for God the better. The flesh will 
make sufficient efforts on its own account. 

Stephen. 
Why take a middle course? If such a life is 
best, then one should give up everything and die. 

Nicholas. 
It would be splendid. Try to do it, and you 
will find it good for you as well as for others. 

Alexandra. 
No, all this is neither clear nor simple. It is 
dragged in by the hair. 

Nicholas. 
What am I to do? I cannot make you under- 
stand. Enough of this! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 71 

Stephen. 
Enough, indeed! I do not understand. 
(Exit.) 

Nicholas. 
(to the priest.) Well, what did you think of the 
book? 

Father Vasily. 
(agitated.) I hardly know what to say. The 
historical side is sufficiently studied, but it is hardly 
convincingly or satisfactorily proved — perhaps 
because the data are insufficient. You cannot 
prove the divinity or non-divinity of Christ his- 
torically. There is only one unanswerable 
proof. . . . 

(During the conversation all, one 
after the other, leave the room*—^ 
first the ladies, then Stephen, and 
■finally Peter Semenovich, leaving 
the priest and Nicholas alone.) 

Nicholas. 
You mean the Church ? 

Father Vasily. 
Yes, of course, the Church; the testimony of 
men — well, of truly holy men, shall we say? 

Nicholas. 
It would certainly be excellent if such an infal- 
lible authority existed which we could trust, and 



72 THE LIGHT THAT 

it is desirable that it should exist. But its de- 
sirability is no proof that it does exist. 

Father Vasily. 

I contend that it does prove it. God could not, 
as it were, let His law be distorted, be badly in- 
terpreted; and He had to institute a — well — a 
custodian of His truths. He had to, hadn't He, 
to prevent the distortion of these truths? 

Nicholas. 

Very well; but you set out to prove the truths 
themselves, and now you are proving the truth of 
the custodians. 

Father Vasily. 

Well, in regard to that, we must, so to speak, 
believe. 

Nicholas. 

Believe? We cannot live without belief. We 
must believe, but not what others tell us; only 
what we are led to by the course of our own 
thoughts, our own reason . . . the belief in 
God, in the true life everlasting. 

Father Vasily. 

Reason may deceive you — each man has his 
own — 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 73 

Nicholas. 
{warmly.) That is horrible blasphemy! God 
has given us one holy instrument by which to 
know the truth — one that can unite us all, and 
we distrust it! 

Father Vasily. 
But how can we trust it when there is so much 
difference of opinion — isn't there? 

Nicholas. 
Where is there any difference of opinion as to 
two and two making four; as to our not doing to 
others what we do not wish to be done to our- 
selves; as to there being a cause for everything; 
and such truths as these? We all recognise these 
truths because they are in accordance with our 
reason. As to such questions as what God re- 
vealed to Moses on Mount Sinai, whether or not 
Buddha flew away on a sunbeam, or whether Mo- 
hammed and Christ flew up to heaven — and 
things of that sort — we all disagree. 

Father Vasily. 
No, we do not all disagree. All who have the 
truth are united in one faith in the God Christ. 

Nicholas. 
You are not united then because you all differ, 



74 THE LIGHT THAT 

so why should I believe you rather than a Bud- 
dhist lama? Simply because I happened to be 
born in your faith? 

{Sounds of dispute from the ten- 
nis-court. " Out." " No, it was 
not" " I saw it." 

During the conversation the Foot- 
MAN rearranges the table, bringing in 
fresh tea and coffee.) 

Nicholas. 

(continuing.) You say the Church gives union. 
But, on the contrary, the worst differences were 
always caused by the Church. " How often 
would I have gathered Thy children together, 
even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her 
wings." 

Father Vasily. 
It was so before Christ. Christ united all. 

Nicholas. 

Christ united us all, but we became disunited 
because we understood Him wrongly. He de- 
stroyed all Churches. 

Father Vasily. 
Then what does " tell the Church " mean? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 75 

Nicholas. 
It is not a question of words, nor do these 
words apply to the Church. The whole thing is 
the spirit of the teaching. Christ's teaching is 
universal, and contains all beliefs, and does not 
contain anything that is exclusive — -neither the 
resurrection, nor the divinity of Christ, nor the 
sacraments — indeed, nothing that can disunite. 

Father Vasily. 
Well, that is your interpretation of the Chris- 
tian teaching; but the Christian teaching is en- 
tirely founded on the divinity of Christ and His 
resurrection. 

Nicholas. 
That is why Churches are so horrible. They 
disunite by declaring that they possess the full, 
certain, and infallible truth — " filling us with the 
Holy Ghost." It began with the first meeting of 
the apostles. From that moment they began to 
affirm that they were possessed of full and exclu- 
sive truth. Why, if I say that there is a God, 
that the world began, all will agree with me, and 
this recognition of God will unite us; but if I say 
there is a god Brahma, or a Jewish god, or a 
Trinity — such a divinity disunites. Men want 
to unite and invent a means to that end, but they 
disregard the only certain means of union — an 



7« THE LIGHT THAT 

aspiration after truth. It is as if in a great build- 
ing, where the light falls from the roof on to the 
middle of the floor, men were to stand in groups 
in the corners instead of going into the light. If 
they went into the light they would, without think- 
ing about it, be united. 

Father Vasily. 

But how would you guide the people without 
having, so to speak, a fixed truth ? 

Nicholas. 
That is the horror of it. Each of us has his 
own soul to save, has God's work to do, and we 
are all anxious about saving and teaching others. 
And what do we teach them? It is simply hor- 
rible to think that at the end of the nineteenth' 
century we are teaching that God created the 
world in six days, then sent a flood, putting all the 
animals into the Ark, and all the absurd nonsense 
of the Old Testament; and then that Christ or- 
dered us to be baptised in water, or the absurdity 
of the redemption without which you cannot be 
saved; then that Christ flew away to skies which 
do not exist, and there sits at the right hand of 
God the Father. We are accustomed to all this, 
but really it is terrible. A pure child, open to 
good and truth, asks us what the world is, what its 
law is, and instead of teaching him the love and 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 77 

truth which we have believed, we carefully stuff 
his head with all sorts of dreadful, absurd lies 
and horrors, ascribing them all to God. This is 
awful. It is a crime that nothing can surpass. 
And we, and you with your Church, do all this. 
Forgive me. 

Father Vasily. 
Yes, if you look at Christ's teaching in that 
way — : rationally, so to speaks — then it is so. 

Nicholas. 
It is the same, no matter in what way you look 
at it. 

(Silence. The Priest takes leave 
of him. Enter Alexandra Ivan- 

OVNA.) ' 

Alexandra. 
Good-bye, Father Vasily. Do not listen to 
him ; he will lead you astray. 

Father Vasily. 
Oh no ! One must put the Gospel to the test. 
It is too important a matter to be neglected, isn't 
it? 

(Exit.) 

Alexandra. 
Really, Nicholas, you have no pity on him. 
Though he is a priest, he is little more than a" 



yff THE LIGHT THAT 

boy. He cannot have settled convictions ; he can- 
not be steadfast. . . . 

Nicholas. 
Are we to let him become confirmed in them, 
to harden in deceit? Why should we? Ah, he 
is a good, sincere man. 

Alexandra. 
Well, what would happen to him were he to 
believe you? 

Nicholas. 
It is not a question of believing me; but if he 
could see the truth.it would be well for him and 
for every one. 

Alexandra. 
If it were really well, all would believe you. 
As it is, we see just the contrary. No one be- 
lieves you — your wife least of all. She cannot 
believe you. 

Nicholas. 
Who told you so? 

Alexandra. 
Well, explain all this to Masha. She never 
understood and never will, and no one in the 
world ever will, understand why you should take 
care of strangers and neglect your own children. 
Explain that to Masha. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 79 

Nicholas. 
Masha is sure to understand. Forgive me, 
Aline, but if it were not for outside influences, to 
which she is so susceptible, she would understand 
me and go hand-in-hand with me. 

Alexandra. 
To deprive her own children for the drunken 
Ephim and Co.? Never. As for your being 
angry with me, you will excuse me, but I cannot 
help speaking. . . . 

Nicholas. 
I am not angry. On the contrary, I am very 
glad that you said all you had to say, and gave 
me the opportunity of giving all my own views. 
I thought it over on my way to-day, and I am go- 
ing to tell her at once, and you will see that she 
will agree, for she is both wise and good. 

Alexandra. 
You will allow me to have my doubts. 

Nicholas. 
Well, I have none. This is no invention of 
mine: it is what we all know, and what Christ 
revealed to us. 

Alexandra. 
You think He revealed this? I think He 
revealed something quite different. 



So THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
There can be nothing different. Just listen. 
Do not argue; listen to me. 

Alexandra. 
I am listening. 

Nicholas. 
You admit that at any minute we may die and 
return to nothingness or to God, who demands 
that we should live according to His will. 

Alexandra. 
Well? 

•Nicholas. 
Well, what else am I to do in this life but that 
which the highest Judge that is in my soul — my 
conscience, God — demands? My conscience, 
God, demands that I should consider all men 
equal, should love and serve all. 

Alexandra. 
Your children among the rest. 

Nicholas. 
Of course; but I must do everything my con- 
science dictates. The most important thing of all 
is to recognise that my life does not belong to me, 
nor yours to you, but to God, who sent us and 
requires us to live according to His will. And 
His will . . . 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 81 

Alexandra. 
And you will convince Masha of this? 

Nicholas. 
Certainly. 

Alexandra. 
She will cease to educate her children as she 
should and will desert them? Never. 

Nicholas. 
Not only she ; you too will understand that that 
is the only thing to do. 

Alexandra. 
Never ! 

{Enter Marie Ivanovna.)' 

Nicholas. 
Well, Masha, I hope I did not wake you up 
this morning. 

Marie. 
No, I was not asleep. Did you have a pleasant 
journey? 

Nicholas. 
Yes, very pleasant. 

Marie. 
Why are you drinking that cold tea? Anyhow, 
we must have some fresh made for our guests. 
You know that Princess Cheremshanova is com- 
ing with her son and daughter. 



82 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
If you are pleased, so am I. 

Marie. 

Yes. I am very fond of her and of her chil- 
dren, but it is hardly the moment for visitors. 

Alexandra. 

Well, have a talk with him, and I will go and 
watch the game. 

{A silence , after which Marie 
Ivanovna and Nicholas Ivano- 
VICH hoth speak at once.) 

Marie. 
It is hardly the moment, because we must 
talk things over. 

Nicholas. 
I was just telling Aline. . s s 

Marie. 
What? 

Nicholas. 
No ; you speak. 

Marie. 

Well, I wanted to talk to you about Stephen. 
Something must be decided. The poor boy is in 






SHINES IN DARKNESS 83 

suspense, does not know what is going to happen, 
and comes to me; but how can I decide? 

Nicholas. 

How can any one decide? He can decide for 
himself. 

Marie. 

Why, you know he wants to enter the Guards 
as a volunteer, and he cannot do it without a cer- 
tificate from you, and he must have money, and 
you give him nothing (agitated.) 

Nicholas. 

Masha, for heaven's sake do not get agitated, 
and listen to me. I neither give nor refuse. To 
enter the military service voluntarily I consider 
foolish madness, such as only a savage is capable 
of. If he does not understand the meanness, the 
baseness of such an action, or if he does it out of 
self-interest — 

Marie. 

Oh, everything seems mad and foolish to you 
now. He wants to live — you have lived. 

Nicholas. 

(hotly.) I lived without understanding, with no 
one to tell me. But it depends on him now — 
not on me. 



8 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
But it does depend on you, when you give him 
no money. 

Nicholas. 
I cannot give what does not belong to me. 

Marie. 
What do you mean by " does not belong to 

me " A 

Nicholas. 
The labour of others does not belong to me. 
To give him money, I must take from others. 
I have no right to; I cannot. So long as I am 
the master of the estate I cannot dispose of it 
otherwise than as my conscience dictates. I can- 
not spend the labour of peasants, which costs them 
their whole strength, on the drinking-bouts of a 
hussar. Take the estate from me; then I shall 
not be responsible. 

Marie. 
You know I do not want that, and I cannot do 
it. I have to educate the children, to nurse them, 
to bring them into the world. It is cruel. 

Nicholas. 

Dearest Masha, that is not the point. When 
you began to speak, I began also, and I wanted so 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 85 

to talk frankly to you. All this is impossible. 
We live together, and do not understand each 
other; sometimes it seems as though we misunder- 
stood each other on purpose. 

Marie. 

I want to understand you, but I cannot. I can- 
not understand what has come over you. 

Nicholas. 

Then try to understand now. It is hardly the 
moment, but heaven knows when there will be 
a moment. Try to understand not only me, but 
yourself and your own life. We cannot go on 
living without knowing what we live for. 

Marie. 

We lived so before, and we lived very well 
{noting an expression of displeasure on his face.) 
' — All right; I am listening. 

Nicholas. 

I used to live thus, thus — that is to say, with- 
out thinking why I lived ; but the time came when 
I was aghast. We live on the labour of others, 
we make others work for us, we bring children 
into the world, and educate them for the same 
thing. Old age, death, will come, and I shall 



86 THE LIGHT THAT 

ask myself: " What did I live for? To produce 
parasites like myself?" Besides, this life is not 
even amusing. It is only tolerable when one is 
overflowing with the energy of life, like Vania. 

Marie. 
Every one lives like that. 

Nicholas. 
And every one is unhappy. 

Marie. 
Not at all. 

Nicholas. 

I, at least, discovered that I was terribly un- 
happy, and that I was causing you and the children 
to be unhappy, and I asked myself: " Is it possible 
that God created you for this? " And directly I 
thought that, I felt that the answer was " No." 
Then I asked myself: "What did God create us 
for?" 

{A footman enters. Marie 
Ivanovna does not listen to her hus- 
band, but speaks to the footman.) 

Marie. 
Bring some hot milk. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 87 

Nicholas. 

I found the answer in the Gospel: we do not 
live for ourselves at all. It was revealed to me 
clearly once when I was thinking over the parable 
of the labourers in the vineyard. Do you remem- 
ber it? 

Marie. 
Yes ; I know the labourers. 

Nicholas. 

Somehow or other that parable showed me my 
mistake more clearly than anything. I had be- 
lieved that my life was my own just as those la- 
bourers believed that the vineyard was theirs, and 
everything was terrible to me. But as soon as I 
realised that my life was not my own, that I was 
sent into the world to do the work of God — ? 

Marie. 
JWhat of that? k We all know that. 

Nicholas. 

Well, if we know it, we cannot continue to live 
as we do, when we know our whole life is not a 
fulfilment of this will, but, on the contrary, is in 
perpetual contradiction to it. 



88 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 

In what way is it a contradiction when we do 
no harm to any one ? 

Nicholas. 

How can you say we do no harm to any one? 
That is exactly the conception of life that the 
labourers in the vineyard had. We- — 

Marie. 

Oh, yes; I know the parable. Well, what of 
it? He gave them all the same portion. 

Nicholas. 

{after a silence.) No; that is not it. But think 
of this, Masha; we have only one life, and it is 
in our power to live it devoutly or to ruin it 

Marie. 

I cannot think and discuss. I get no sleep at 
night; I am nursing baby. I manage the whole 
household, and instead of helping me you keep 
on telling me things I do not understand. 

Nicholas. 
Masha ! 

Marie. 
And now these visitors are arriving. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 89 

Nicholas. 
But we will talk it out to the end, shall we not? 
(He kisses her.) Yes? 

Marie. 
Yes. But do be your former self. 

Nicholas. 

That I cannot. But listen to me — 

(The sound of approaching car- 
riage bells and wheels is heard.) 

Marie. 

There is no time now — they have arrived. I 
must go to them. 

(Disappears round the corner of 
the house } followed by Stephen and 
Luba. Alexandra Ivanovna and 
her husband and Lisa come on to the 
veranda. Nicholas Ivanovich 
walks about in deep thought.) 

Vania. 

(jumping over a bench.') I don't give in; we'll 
finish the game ! Well, Luba ? 

Luba. 

(seriously.) No nonsense, please! 



90 THE LIGHT THAT 

Alexandra. 
Well, have you convinced her? 

Nicholas. 
Aline, what is going on between us now is seri- 
ous, and jokes are quite out of place. It is not I 
who am convincing her, but life, truth, God. 
Therefore she cannot help being convinced — if 
not to-day, then to-morrow; if not to-morrow — 
The worst of it all is that no one ever has time. 
Who has come? 

Peter. 
The Cheremshanovs — Katia Cheremshanova, 
whom I have not seen for eighteen years. The 
last time we met we sang together: " La ei darem 
la mano." {He sings.) 

Alexandra. 
{to her husband.) Please do not interfere, and 
do not imagine that I have quarrelled with Nicho- 
las. I am speaking the truth. {To Nicho- 
las.) I was not joking in the least, but it seemed 
so strange that you wanted to convince Masha at 
the very moment when she wanted to talk matters 
over with you. 

Nicholas. 
Very well, very well. Here they are. Please 
tell Masha that I am in my room. {Exit.) 



ACT II 

Scene I 

Same place in the country. Time: One week 
later. 

{Scene represents large drawing- 
room. Table is laid with samovar, 
tea and coffee. Piano against the 
wall, music-rack. 

Marie Ivanovna, the Princess, 
and Peter Semenovich are seated 
r at the table.) 

Peter. 

Yes, Princess. It does not seem so long ago 
that you used to sing Rosine, and I . 
Whereas now I should not even do for a Don 
Basilio. 

Princess. 
Now the children might sing, but times have 
altered. 

Peter. 
Yes, they are positivists. But I hear your 
daughter is a very serious and excellent musician. 
Are they still asleep? 

91 



92 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 

Yes, they went out riding by moonlight and 
returned very late. I was nursing baby and heard 
them. 

'Peter. 

And when does my better half return? Have 
you sent the carriage for her? 

Marie. 

Yes, it went a long time ago. She ought to be 
here soon. 

Princess. 

Did Alexandra Ivanovna really go with the sole 
purpose of fetching Father Gerasim? 

Marie. 
Yes, the thought suddenly struck her yesterday, 
and she flew off at once. 

Princess. 
What energy! I admire it. 

Peter. 

Oh, as to that, it never fails us. ( Takes out a 
cigar.) Well, I think I'll take a turn in the park 
with the dogs and smoke while the young people 
are getting up. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 93 

Princess. 

I don't know, dear Marie Ivanovna, but I really 
think you take it too much to heart. I under- 
stand him. He is full of such high aspiration. 
What does it matter if he does give his property 
away to the poor? It's only too true that we all 
think too much of ourselves. 

Marie. 

Oh, if it were only that. But you don't know 
him — you do not know all. It is not only help- 
ing the poor. It is a complete change — the 
utter wrecking of everything. 

Princess. 

I certainly do not wish to intrude into your 
family life, but if you would allow me . . . 

Marie. 

But I look on you as one of the family, espe- 
cially now. 

Princess. 

I should just advise you to put your demands 
plainly before him, and openly come to some 
agreement with him as to the limits — 

Marie. 
(agitated.) There are no limits! He wishes to 



94 THE LIGHT THAT 

give everything away. He wants me at my age to 
become a cook — a laundress. 

Princess. 

Oh, impossible! How extraordinary! 

Marie. 

(taking out a letter.) Now we are quite alone; I 
should like to tell you everything. Yesterday he 
wrote me this letter. I will read it to you. 

Princess. 

What! living in the same house with you, he 
writes you letters? How strange! 

Marie. 

Oh, no. I quite understand. He gets so ex- 
cited when he talks I have been feeling anxious 
about his health lately. 

Princess. 
Well, what does he write? 

Marie. 

Listen. (She reads.) " You reproach me for 
destroying our former life without offering you 
anything else or saying how I intend to provide 
for my family. When we begin to talk we both 
get excited, so I am writing instead. I have told 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 95 

you many times why I can't go on living as I have 
done. And as for trying to convince you that it 
is wrong to live as we have been accustomed to 
do, that we must lead a Christian life, I cannot 
do that in a letter. You can do one of two things 
1 — either believe in truth and liberty and go 
with me, or believe in me, give yourself trustfully 
to me, and follow me." (Stops reading.) But 
I can do neither of these things! I do not be- 
lieve that I ought to live as he desires, and more- 
over I love the children and I cannot trust him. 
(Continues to read.) " My plan is this. We 
will give all our land to the peasants, leaving our- 
selves fifty acres and the kitchen garden and the 
flooded meadow. We will try to work, but we 
will not force ourselves or our children to work. 
What we reserve for ourselves will bring in about 
five hundred roubles * a year." 

Princess. 

It is impossible to live on five hundred roubles 
a year with seven children. 

Marie. 

Well, and then he goes on to say that we will 
give up our house for a school and live in the 
gardener's cottage, in two rooms. 

* A rouble = about 2S. 



96 THE LIGHT THAT 

Princess. 

Yes, I really begin to think that he's not well. 
What have you answered? 

Marie. 

I told him I could not agree to it. That, were 
I alone, I would follow him anywhere. But with 
the children . . . Just think — I am nursing 
little Nicholas. I told him it was impossible to 
break up everything like that. Was this what I 
married him for? I am already old and feeble. 
It is not an easy matter to bring nine children into 
the world and nurse them. 

Princess. 
I never dreamt it had gone so far ! 

Marie. 

Well, that is how matters stand, and I can't 
imagine what will become of us. Yesterday he 
remitted the entire rent of the peasants from 
Dmitrovka, and he intends to give that land to 
them outright. 

Princess. 

I really think you ought not to permit that. It 
is our duty to protect our children. If he cannot 
own his estate himself, let him give it to you. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 97 

Marie. 
I don't want it. 

Princess. 
But it is your duty to retain it, for the sake of 
your children. Let him make it over to you. 

/ Marie. 
My sister suggested that to him, but he said he 
had no right to dispose of it, as the land belonged 
to those who tilled it, and it was his duty to give 
it to the peasants. 

Princess. 
Yes, I see it is really much more serious than I 
thought. 

Marie. 
And fancy! our priest is on his side. 

Princess. 
I noticed that yesterday. 

Marie. 
Now my sister has gone to Moscow to consult a 
lawyer, and above all to bring Father Gerasim 
back with her to see if he has any influence with 
him. 

Princess. 
I do not think that Christianity consists in ruin- 
ing one's own family. 



98 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
But he will not trust Father Gerasim. He is 
too far confirmed in his convictions, and you know 
when he talks I can find no arguments to use 
against him. The worst of It is - — I believe he is 
right. 

Princess. 
That is only because you love him. 

Marie. 
I do not know why, but it is dreadful, dreadful. 
Everything remains unsettled. That's what re- 
ligion does! 

{Enter Nurse.) 

Nurse. 
Please, ma'am, the baby is awake and wants 
you. 

Marie. 
I will come in a moment. I am worried, and 
the baby has colic, you see. I am coming. 

'(Exit Princess.) 
\From the other side enters Nicho- 
las with a paper in his hand.) 

Nicholas. 
It is incredible ! 

Marie. 
What is the matter? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 99 

Nicholas. 

The matter is just this, that for a pine tree of 
ours, Peter is to go to jail. 

Marie. 
But why? 

Nicholas. 

Because he felled it. They toolc the matter to 
court, and he is sentenced to a month's imprison- 
ment. His wife came to implore me r— 9 

Marie. 

Well, can't you help her? 

Nicholas. 

I cannot now. The only thing to do is not to 
own any forest; and I will not! I will just go 
and see if I can help in the trouble of which I my- 
self have been the cause. 

(Enter Luba and Boris.)' 

Luba. 

Good morning, father. (Kisses him.) 
Where are you going? 

Nicholas. 

I have just come from the village and I'm now 
on my way back. A hungry man is being put in 
jail for — 



ioo THE LIGHT THAT 

LUBA. 

It's probably Peter. 

Nicholas. 
Yes — Peter. 
{Exeunt Nicholas and Marie Ivanovna.) 

Luba. 
(sitting down before the samovar,) Will you 
take coffee or tea? 

Boris, 
I do not care. 

Luba. 
Things are just as they were. I cannot see how 
it will end. 

Boris. 
I do not quite understand him. I know the 
peasants are poor and ignorant, that it's our duty 
to help them. But not by showing favour to 
thieves. 

Luba. 
But how? 

Boris. 
By everything we do. We must dedicate all 
our knowledge to them, but we cannot give up our 
life. 

Luba. 
Father says that is just what we must do. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 101 

Boris. 
I do not see why. It is quite possible to help 
the people without ruining one's own life, and 
that is what I intend doing myself. If only 
you — 

Luba. 
Your wishes are mine. And I am not afraid 
of anything. 

Boris. 
But what about your ear-rings, and your dress? 

Luba. 
The ear-rings we can sell, and as for the frock, 
I might dress differently without being altogether 
ugly. 

Boris. 
I want to have another talk with him. Do you 
think I should be in his way if I went to the vil- 
lage? 

Luba. 
I'm sure you wouldn't. I can see he is very 
fond of you. Yesterday he talked to you nearly 
all the time. 

Boris. 
Then I'll go. 

Luba. 
Yes, do. And I'll go and wake up Lisa and! 
Tonia. 

(Exit on diferent sides.) 



102 THE LIGHT THAT 



Scene II 



Village street. The peasant Ivan Ziabrev is 
lying on the ground at a cottage door, with a 
sheepskin coat over him. 

Ivan. 

Malashka ! 

{From behind the cottage comes a 
little girl with a baby in her arms. 
The baby cries.) 
I want a drink of water. 

(Malashka goes into the cottage. 
The baby is heard crying still. She 
brings a jug of water.) 
Why do you hit the baby and make him howl? 
I'll tell your mother. 

Malashka. 
Do tell mother! Baby's howling because he's 
hungry. 

Ivan. 
(drinking.) Why don't you go and get some 
milk at Demkin's? 

Malashka. 
I have been. They haven't got any, and there 
was not a soul at home. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 103 

Ivan. 
Oh, I wish Death would come quicker. Has 
the dinner bell rung? 

Malashka. 
(screaming at the top of her voice.) Yes, it has 
rung ! There's the master coming ! 

(Enter Nicholas.) 

Nicholas. 
Why are you lying out here ? 

Ivan. 
There are flies there. And it's too hot. 

Nicholas. 
Have you got warm then? 

Ivan. 
I feel as if I were on fire now. 

Nicholas. 
Where is Peter? At home? 

Ivan. 
How could he be, at this hour? He's gone to 
the fields to bring in the sheaves. 

Nicholas. 
I was told he had been arrested. 



io 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

Ivan. 

That's quite true. The policeman has gone to 
the field after him. 

{Enter a pregnant Woman, with 
a sheaf of oats and a pitchfork, and 
immediately hits Malashka over the 
head.) 

Woman. 
Why did you go away from the baby? Do 
listen to him screaming. You only think of run- 
ning out in the road. 

Malashka. 
(crying loudly.) I just came out to give father a 
drink of water. 

Woman. 
I'll give it you. (Sees Nicholas Ivano- 
VICH.) Good-day, Nicholas Ivanovich. You 
see what they are all bringing me to ! There's no 
one but me to do anything, and I'm worn out. 
Now they're taking our very last man to jail, and 
this lazy lout is lying about doing nothing. 

Nicholas. 
Why do you say that? You can see he is ill. 

Woman. 
Ill, indeed. What about me? When there's 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 105 

work to be done then he's sick, but if he wants to 
go on the spree and knock me about, he's well 
enough. Let him die like a dog. I don't care. 

Nicholas. 
How sinful to talk like that ! 

Woman. 
I know it's a sin. But my temper gets the 
better of me. Look how I am, and I have to 
work for two. All the others have got their oats 
in, and a quarter of our field isn't cut yet. I 
ought not to have stopped, but I had to come 
home and see after the children. 

Nicholas. 
I will have your oats cut for you and will send 
some binders out to your field. 

Woman. 
Oh, I can manage the binding myself, if we 
can only get it cut. Oh, Nicholas Ivanovich, do 
you think he's going to die? He's very low in- 
deed. 

Nicholas. 
I'm sure I don't know; but he's certainly very 
weak. I think he had better be taken to the hos- 
pital. 

Woman. 
Oh, my God! (Begins to weep loudly.) 



106 THE LIGHT THAT 

Don't take him away. Let him die here. (To 
the husband.) What did you say? 

Ivan. 
I want to go to hospital. I'm lying here worse 
than a dog. 

Woman. 
Oh, I don't know what to do ! I shall go mad ! 
Malashka, get dinner! 

Nicholas. 
And what have you got for dinner? 

Woman. 
Some potatoes and bread. That's all we've 
got. (Goes into cottage, the sounds of a pig 
squealing and children crying are heard.) 

Ivan. 
(groaning.) Oh, God, if Death would come! 

(Enter Boris.) 

Boris. 
Can't I be of any use here! 

Nicholas. 
No one can be of any use here. The evil is 
too deeply rooted. We can only be of use to our- 
selves by realising on what foundations we build 
our happiness. Here is a family — five chil- 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 107 

dren — the wife pregnant, the husband ill, and 
nothing in the house to eat but potatoes. And at 
this moment it is a question whether they will have 
food for next year. And there is no help for 
them. How can one help? I am going to hire 
a man to work for them. But who will that man 
be? A man as badly off as they are, who has 
given up tilling his own land through drunkenness 
or poverty. 

Boris. 
Excuse me, but if that is the case, why are you 
here? 

Nicholas. 

I am trying to ascertain my own position; to 

know who looks after our gardens, builds our 

houses, makes our clothes, feeds and dresses us. 

(Peasants with scythes and 

Women with pitchforks pass them. 

They how to the master.) 

Nicholas. 
{stopping one of them.) Ephraim, can you take 
the job of cutting Ivan's oats for him? 

Ephraim. 
{shaking his head.) I'd do it gladly, but I can't. 
I haven't got my own in yet. I'm just hurrying 
off to do it now. Why? Is Ivan dying? 



108 THE LIGHT THAT 

Another Peasant. 
There's old Sebastian. Maybe he can take the 
job. Sebastian! They want a man to reap. 

Sebastian. 
Take the job yourself if you want it. One day 
may mean the whole year in such weather as this. 

Nicholas. 
(to Boris.) All those men are half-starved, 
many of them ill or old, living on bread and 
water. Look at that old man. He suffers from 
rupture — and he works from four in the morn- 
ing till ten at night, and is barely alive. And we 
i — now, is it possible, when we once understand 
this, to go on living quietly and calling ourselves 
Christians? Can we call ourselves anything short 
of beasts? 

Boris. 
But what are we to do? 

Nicholas. 
Not be a party to evil. Not possess land. 
Not feed upon their toil. How this can be man- 
aged I do not know. The thing is — at least so 
it was with me. I lived and did not understand 
what sort of life I led. I didn't understand that 
I was a son of God and that we were all sons of 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 109 

God and all brothers. But when I came to under- 
stand that, when I saw that all had equal claims 
on life, my whole life was changed. I cannot ex- 
plain it very well to you, I can only say that be- 
fore, I was blind, just as my family still are, but 
now my eyes are opened I cannot help seeing. 
And> seeing, I cannot go on living as before. 
But, of course, for the present we must do as best 
we can. 

(Enter Police-Sergeant, with 
Peter, and his wife and a boy.) 

Peter. 
(falling on his knees before Nicholas Ivano- 
VICH.) Forgive me, for Christ's sake. I'm 
done for! My wife can't get along alone. 
Can't you let me go on bail? 

Nicholas. 
I will see about it. I will write. (To the 
Police-Sergeant.) Couldn't you let him stay 
here meanwhile? 

Sergeant. 
I have orders to take him to the police-station. 

Nicholas. 
Go then; I will hire a labourer. I will do all 
that is possible. This is my fault. How can one 
live like this? 

(Exit.) 



no THE LIGHT THAT 



Scene III 

Same as Scene I. It is raining outside. 
Drawing-room with a piano. Tonia has just 
finished playing the Schumann Sonata, and is still 
sitting at the piano. Stephen stands near the 
piano. After the music, Luba, Lisa, Anna 
Ivanovna, Mitrofan Dmitrich and the Priest 
are all greatly moved. 

Luba. 

The Andante is so lovely. 

Stephen. 

No ' — the Scherzo ! But the whole thing is 
charming. 

Beautiful ! 



Lisa. 



Stephen. 
{to Tonia.) I had no idea you were such an 
artist. Your rendering is masterly. Difficulties 
do not seem to exist for you, you only think of 
the expression, and it is so exquisitely delicate. 

Luba. 
So noble, too! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS in 

TONIA. 
I feel it is not what I want it to be. There's a 
great deal lacking in my playing. 

Lisa. 
It could not be better. It is marvellous. 

Luba. 
Schumann is very great. But I think Chopin 
appeals to the heart more. 

Stephen. 
He is more lyrical. 

Tonia. 
I do not think a comparison is possible. 

Luba. 
Do you remember that Prelude of his ? 

Tonia. 
Do you mean the so-called George Sand one? 

(Begins to play.) 

Luba. 

No, not that one. That is lovely, but it is 
hackneyed. Please play this one. 

(Tonia tries to play, But breaks 
off and stops.) 

Luba. 
No, the one in D minor. 



ii2 THE LIGHT THAT 

TONIA. 

Oh, this one. It is wonderful. It is like chaos 
before the Creation. 

Stephen. 
{laughs.) Yes, yes! Do play it. No, better 
not — you are tired. We have already had a 
wonderful morning, thanks to you. 

(Tonia rises and looks out of the 
window. ) 

TONIA. 
There are the peasants again. 

Luba. 

That's what is so precious in music. I under- 
stand Saul. I'm not tormented by the devil, but 
I know how Saul felt. There's no art that can 
make one forget everything like music. 

Tonia. 
And yet you are going to marry a man who 
doesn't understand music. 

LlJBA. 

Oh, but — Boris does understand it. 

Boris. 
(absent-minded.) Music! — Yes, I like music. 
But it isn't important. And I am rather sorry 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 113 

for the life that people lead who attach so much 
importance to it. 

( There are sweets on the table and 
they all eat.) 

LUBA. 
How nice to be engaged! Then one always 
has sweets. 

Boris. 
Oh, it is not 1^ — it's mother. 

Tonia. 
Very nice of her. (Goes to the window.) 
Whom do you want to see? The peasants have 
come to see Nicholas Ivanovich. 

Luba. 
(going to the window.) He is not at home. 
Wait. 

Tonia. 
And what about poetry? 

LUBA. 

No, the value of music is that it takes hold of 
you, and carries you away from reality. We were 
all so gloomy just now, and when you began to 
play, everything brightened. It did really. 
Take the waltzes of Chopin. They're hackneyed, 
of course, but — * 

Tonia. 

This one? (She plays.) 



ii 4 THE LIGHT THAT 



Scene IV 

(Enter Nicholas. He greets 
Tonia, Luba, Stephen, and Lisa.) 

Nicholas. 
(to Luba.) Where's Mother? 

Luba. 
I think she is in the nursery. Father, how 
wonderfully Tonia plays. Where have you 
been? 

Nicholas. 
In the village. 

(Stephen calls the footman, who 
enters.) 

Stephen. 
Bring another samovar. 

Nicholas. 
(shakes hands with footman.) Good morning! 
(Footman confused. Exit. Exit 
also Nicholas.) 

Stephen. 
Poor chap ! He's so embarrassed. He 
doesn't understand. It's as if we were all guilty 
somehow. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 115 

Nicholas. 
{re-enters.) I was going to my room without 
telling you what I felt. I think it was wrong of 
me. {To Tonia.) If you, who are our guest, 
are hurt by what I am going to say, please forgive 
me, as I must speak. You said just now, Luba, 
that Tonia played well. Here you are, seven or 
eight healthy young men and women. You slept 
till ten o'clock. Then you had food and drink, 
and you are still eating, and you play and discuss 
music. And there, where I have just come from, 
the people are up at three in the morning. Some 
have not slept at all, having watched the cattle all 
night, and all of them, even the old, the sick, and 
the children, and the women with babies at the 
breast and those who are about to have children, 
work with their utmost strength, that we may 
enjoy the fruits of their labour. And as if that 
were not enough, one of them, the only worker 
in the family, is just now being dragged to prison 
because in the spring he cut down a pine-tree in 
the forest which is called mine — one of the hun- 
dred thousand that grow there. Here we are, 
washed and dressed, having left all our unclean- 
ness in the bedrooms for slaves to carry away. 
Eating, drinking, or discussing, which touches us 
more — Schumann or Chopin — and which of 
them drives away our ennui the more effectually. 



iiS THE LIGHT THAT 

That is what I thought on seeing you all just now, 
and so tell you. Just think whether it is possible 
to go on like thatl (Standing in great agita- 
tion.) 

Lisa. 
It is true — quite true. 

LUBA. 

Thinking as you do, life is impossible. 

Stephen. 

Why is it impossible? I don't see why we 
shouldn't talk about Schumann even though the 
peasants are poor. The one doesn't exclude the 
other. If menr— » 

Nicholas. 

(angrily.) If a man has no heart and is made 
of wood' — 

Stephen. 
.Well, I will be silent. 

Tonia. 

This problem is terrible. And it is the prob- 
lem of our time. We must not be afraid of it. 
We must look reality in the face in order to solve 
it. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 117 

Nicholas. 

There is no time to wait for the problem to be 
solved by concerted action. Each of us may die 
to-day or to-morrow. How am I to live without 
suffering from this inner conflict. 

Boris. 

Of course the only way is not to share in the 
evil. 

Nicholas. 

Well, forgive me if I have hurt you. I could 
not help saying what I felt. (Exit.) 

Stephen. 

How could we avoid sharing in it ? Our whole 
life is bound up with it. 

Boris. 

That is exactly why he says that in the first 
place one ought not to possess property, and one's 
whole life should be so altered that one may serve 
others, and not be served by them. 

Tonia. 

Oh, I sec you arc quite on Nicholas Ivanovich's 
side. 



n8 THE LIGHT THAT 

Boris. 

Yes, I begin to understand for the first time; 
and, besides, all I saw in the village. We have 
only to take off the spectacles through which we 
are accustomed to view the life of the peasants, 
to see how their misery is connected with our 
pleasures, and there you are. 

MlTROFAN. 

But the remedy is not to ruin our own lives. 

Stephen. 
Isn't it extraordinary how Mitrofan Ermilovich 
and I, standing at opposite poles, agree on some 
points? Those are my exact words: not to ruin 
our own lives. 

Boris. 
It's perfectly simple. You both want a pleas- 
ant life, and so you want to adopt a plan of living 
that will ensure it. You (turning to Stephen) 
would like to preserve present conditions, and 
Mitrofan Ermilovich wants new ones. 

(Luba speaks under her breath to 
Tonia. Tonia goes to the piano 
and plays a Chopin Nocturne. All 
are silent.) 

Stephen. 
That is beautiful. That solves all problems. 



■m 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 119 

Boris. 

It only obscures them, and delays their solution. 
(During the music enter silently 
Marie Ivanovna and the Princess. 
I They sit down and listen. Before the 
end of the Nocturne carriage bells are 
heard.) 

LUBA. 

Oh, that is Auntie ! 

(Goes to meet her. Music con" 
tinues. Enter Alexandra Ivan- 
ovna and a lawyer and Father 
Gerasim with his pectoral cross* 
All present rise.) 

Father Gerasim. 

Pray continue. It is very pleasant. 

(The Princess and Father 
Vasily go up to him and ask his 
blessing.) 

Alexandra. 

I have done what I said I would. I found 
Father Gerasim and persuaded him to come with 
me. He is going to Kursk. So I have done my 
part. And here is the lawyer. He has the 
papers all ready to sign. 



120 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
Would you not like to have some luncheon? 

( The Lawyer lays his papers on 
the table and goes.) 
I am very grateful to Father Gerasim. 

Father Gerasim. 
What else could I do? It was not on my way, 
but my Christian duty bade me come. 

(Princess whispers to the young 
people. They all talk among them' 
selves, and go out on the veranda, 
except Boris. Father Vasily rises 
to go.) 

Father Gerasim. 
Stay with us. You as a spiritual father, and 
the pastor here, may derive some benefit and be 
of use. Stay, if Marie Ivanovna does not object 

Marie. 
Oh, no. Father Vasily is like one of the family 
to me. I consulted him as well, but being young, 
he lacks authority. 

Father Gerasim. 
Undoubtedly, undoubtedly. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 121 

Alexandra. 
{approaching him.) Now, you see, Father 
Gerasim, you are the only one that can help us and 
persuade him to see reason. He is a clever man 
and a learned man; but you know yourself, learn- 
ing can only do harm. He does not see clearly 
somehow. He persists in saying that the Chris- 
tian command is to have no possessions. But is 
that possible? 

Father Gerasim. 
It is all a snare, intellectual pride, self-will. 
The fathers of the Church have settled that ques- 
tion adequately. But how did it all come about? 

Marie. 
To be quite frank with you, I must say that when 
we married he was indifferent to religious ques- 
tions, and we lived the first twenty years of our 
life happily. Then he began to think about 
these things. His sister may, perhaps, have in- 
fluenced him, or his reading. But at any rate he 
began to think, to read the Gospel, and then all 
at once he became very pious, going to church, 
visiting monks, and then he suddenly stopped 
all that, and changed his life completely. Now 
he does everything for himself, he permits none 
of the servants to do anything for him, and, 
worst of all, he is giving away all his property. 



122 THE LIGHT THAT 

Yesterday he gave away his forest and the land 
attached to it. I am afraid. I have seven chil- 
dren. Do talk to him. I'll go and ask whether 
he will see you. (Exit.) 

Father Gerasim. 
Yes, nowadays, many are leaving the Church. 
What about the property? Does it belong to him 
or his wife? 

Alexandra. 
It is his own. That is the worst of it. 

Father Gerasim. 

And what is his rank. 

Princess. 

Not a high one. I think he is a captain. He 
has been in the army. 

Father Gerasim. 

Many are leaving the Church nowadays. In 
Odessa there was a lady who became infatuated 
with spiritualism, and she began to do a lot of 
harm. But finally God prevailed, and brought 
her again within the Church. 

Princess. 

Now, father, you must understand. My son 
is going to marry their daughter. I have given 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 123 

my consent. But the girl is used to a life of lux- 
ury, and she must have means of her own so that 
the entire burden may not fall upon my son. I 
must say he works hard, and he is a remarkable 
young man. 

{Enter Marie Ivanovna and 
Nicholas Ivanovich.) 

Nicholas. 
How do you do, Princess? How do you do? 
Pardon me — I do not know your name. {To 
Father Gerasim.) 

Father Gerasim. 
Do you not wish for a blessing? 

Nicholas. 
No, I do not. 

Father Gerasim. 
I am Gerasim Feodorovich. Pleased to meet 
you. 

{Footman brings refreshments and 
wine. ) 
It is fine weather, and very favourable for har- 
vesting. 

Nicholas. 
I understand you have come on the invitation 
of Alexandra Ivanovna to convince me of my 



i2 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

errors, and to lead me into the right way. If 
that is the case, do not let us beat about the bush. 
Let us come to the point. I do not deny that I 
disagree with the teaching of the Church. I used 
to believe in it, but I have ceased to do so. 
Nevertheless, I long with my whole soul to be in 
harmony with the truth, and if you can show it 
to me, I will accept it without hesitation. 

Father Gerasim. 
How can you say you do not believe the teach- 
ing of the Church? What are we to believe if 
not the Church? 

Nicholas. 
God, and his law, given to us in the Gospel. 

Father Gerasim. 
The Church instructs us in that very law. 

Nicholas. 
If that were so, I would believe the Church. 
But the Church teaches the very opposite. 

Father Gerasim. 
The Church cannot teach the opposite, for it is 
founded by our Lord. It is said, " I give you the 
power, and the Gates of Hell shall not prevail 
against it." 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 125 

Nicholas. 
That refers to something quite different. But, 
supposing that Christ did found a church. How 
do I know that it is your Church? 

Father Gerasim. 
Because it is said, "Where two or three are 
gathered together in My name — " 

Nicholas. 
That does not apply either, and does not prove 
anything. 

Father Gerasim. 

How can you renounce the Church, when the 
Church alone possesses grace? 

Nicholas. 
I did not renounce the Church until I was 
wholly convinced that it supports all that is con- 
trary to Christianity. 

Father Gerasim. 
The Church cannot err, because she alone pos- 
sesses the truth. Those err who leave her. The 
Church is sacred. 

Nicholas. 
But I have told you I do not admit that, be- 
cause the Gospel says, " Ye shall know them by 



126 THE LIGHT THAT 

their fruits." And I perceive that the Church 
gives her sanction to oath-taking and murder and 
executions. 

Father Gerasim. 
The Church admits and consecrates the powers 
instituted by God. 

(During the conversation enter one 
by one Luba, Lisa, Stephen, 
Tonia, and Boris, who sit or stand 
and listen.) 

Nicholas. 
I know that not only killing but anger is for- 
bidden by the Gospel. And the Church gives its 
blessing to the army. The Gospel says, " Do not 
swear," and the Church administers oaths. The 
Gospel says — 

Father Gerasim. 
Excuse me — when Pilate said, " I ask you in 
the name of the living God," Christ accepted the 
oath, and said, " Yes, that I am." 

Nicholas. 
Oh, what are you saying? That is simply 
ridiculous ! 

Father Gerasim. 
That is why the Church does not permit in- 
dividuals to interpret the Gospel. She would 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 127 

preserve men from error, and she cares for them 
as a mother for her children. She gives them an 
interpretation befitting the powers of their mind. 
No ! Allow me to finish. The Church does not 
give her children a burden heavier than they can 
bear. She requires only that they fulfil the com- 
mandments. Love, do not kill, do not steal, do 
not commit adultery. 

Nicholas. 
Yes. Do not kill me, do not steal from me 
what I have stolen. We have all robbed the 
people, have stolen their land, and then we in- 
stituted the law against stealing. And the Church 
sanctions it all. 

Father Gerasim. 
That is all a snare, mere spiritual pride speak- 
ing in you. You want to show off your intellect. 

Nicholas. 
Not at all ! I merely ask you, how, according 
to the law of Christ, am I to behave now, when 
I have recognised the sin of robbing the people 
and appropriating their land! What must I do? 
Go on holding my land, exploiting the labour of 
the starving peasants, just for this? {He points 
to the servant who is bringing in lunch and wine.) 
Or am I to give back the land to those who have 
been robbed by my ancestors? 



128 THE LIGHT THAT 

Father Gerasim. 
You must act as a son of the Church should act. 
You have a family, children, and must bring them 
up as befits their station. 

Nicholas. 
Why must I? 

Father Gerasim. 
Because God has placed you in that station. 
And if you want to do charitable acts, then per- 
form them by giving away part of your fortune, 
and by visiting the poor. 

Nicholas. 
Then why was it said that the rich man could 
not enter the kingdom of heaven? 

Father Gerasim. 
It was said, if he desired to be perfect. 

Nicholas. 
But I do want to be perfect. It is said in the 
Gospel, " Be ye perfect even as your Father in 
Heaven is perfect." 

Father Gerasim. 
But one must understand to what it applies. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 129 

Nicholas. 
That is exactly what I am trying to understand, 
and all that was said in the Sermon on the Mount 
is simple and clear. 

Father Gerasim. 
It is all spiritual pride. 

Nicholas. 
Why pride, if it is said that what is hidden from 
the wise shall be revealed to babes? 

Father Gerasim. 
It will be revealed to the humble not to the 
proud. 

Nicholas. 
But who is proud? Is it I, who think that I 
am like the rest, and therefore must live like the 
rest, live by my labour, and in the same poverty 
as all my brothers, or is it they who consider 
themselves apart from the rest, as the priests who 
think they know the whole truth, and cannot 
err, and interpret the words of Christ to suit 
themselves? 

Father Gerasim. 
(offended.) I beg your pardon, Nicholas Ivano- 
vich, I have not come to argue as to who is right. 



i 3 o THE LIGHT THAT 

I did not come to be lectured. I complied with 
the wish of Alexandra Ivanovna, and came to have 
a talk. But you appear to know everything bet- 
ter than I, so the conversation had better cease. 
But I beseech you for the last time, in the name 
of God, to reconsider the matter. You are ter- 
ribly wrong, and will lose your own soul. 

Marie. 
Won't you come and have something to eat? 

Father Gerasim. 

Thank you very much. {Accepts.) 

{Exit with Anna Ivanovna.)' 

Marie. 

{to Father Vasily.) What is the result of 
your talk? 

Father Vasily. 
Well, my opinion is that Nicholas Ivanovich 
spoke truly, and Father Gerasim brought no argu- 
ments against what he said. 

Princess. 
He was not allowed to speak. And then He 
did not like it. It became a sort of wordy tour- 
nament, with everybody listening. He withdrew 
out of modesty. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 131 

Boris. 
It was not at all from modesty. Everything he 
said was false, and he obviously had nothing more 
to say. 

Princess. 
Oh, I see. With your usual fickleness you are 
beginning to agree with Nicholas Ivanovich. If 
those are your opinions you ought not to marry. 

Boris. 
I only say that truth is truth. I cannot help 
saying it. 

Princess. 
You are the last person who ought to speak 
like that. 

Boris. 
Why? 

Princess. 
Because you are poor, and have nothing to give 
away. However, the whole affair is no concern 
of ours. (Exit.) 

(After her all except Nicholas 
and Marie Ivanovna go out.) 

Nicholas. 
(sits deep in thought and smiles meditatively.) 
Masha, what is all this about? Why did you 



132 THE LIGHT THAT 

ask that miserable, misguided man to come here? 
Why should that noisy woman and this priest take 
part in the most intimate questions of our life? 
Couldn't we settle all our affairs between our- 
selves? 

Marie. 
But what can I do if you wish to leave our 
children with nothing? I cannot sit still and let 
you do that. You know it is not greed = -- 1 do 
not want anything for myself. 

Nicholas. 
I know, I know. I trust you. But the mis- 
fortune is that you do not believe. I don't mean 
that you don't believe the truth. I know you see 
it; but you cannot bring yourself to trust it. You 
do not trust the truth, and you do not trust me. 
You would rather trust the crowd — the princess 
and the rest. 

Marie. 
I trust you; I have always trusted you. But 
when you want to make our children beggars — 

Nicholas. 

That proves that you do not trust me. Do 

you imagine I have not struggled and have not had 

fears? But now I am perfectly convinced, not only 

that it can be done, but must be done, and that 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 133 

this is the only right thing to do for the children. 
You always say that if it were not for the children 
you would follow me. And I say that if it were 
not for the children you might go on living as you 
do. We should only be injuring ourselves. As it 
is we injure them. 

Marie. 
But what can I do if I don't understand? 

Nicholas. 
And I — what am I to do ? I know why you 
sent for that poor creature dressed up in his cas- 
sock and his cross, and I know why Aline brought 
the lawyer. You want me to transfer the estate 
to your name. I cannot do that. You know I 
have loved you during the twenty years we have 
been married. I love you, and I have every wish 
for your welfare, and that is why I cannot sign 
that transfer. If I am to make over the estate, 
then it must be to those from whom it came — the 
peasants. I cannot give it to you. I must give it 
to them. I am glad the lawyer has come. I 
must do it. 

Marie. 
This is dreadful! Why are you so cruel? If 
you think it a sin to hold property, give it to me. 
{Weeps.) 



134 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
You do not know what you are saying. If I 
gave it to you I could not go on living with you. 
I should have to go away. I cannot continue to 
live in these conditions, and see the peasants 
squeezed dry, whether it is in your name or mine. 
I cannot see them put in prison. So choose. 

Marie. 
How cruel you are! This is not Christianity; 
it is wicked. I cannot live as you want me to do. 
I cannot take things from my children to give to 
strangers, and for that you would forsake me ! 
Well, go. I see that you no longer love me, and, 
indeed, I know the reason. 

Nicholas. 
Very well, I will sign it. But, Masha, you are 
asking the impossible of me. (Goes to the table 
and signs.) It is you who desired that. I can- 
not live so. {Rushes away holding his head.) 

Marie. 
(calling.) Luba! Aline! (They enter.) He 
has signed — and gone. What am I to do? He 
said he would go away, and he will. Go to him. 

LUBA. 

He is gone. 



ACT III 

Scene I 

Scene is laid in Moscow. Large room, and in 
it a carpenter' 's bench, a table with papers, a book- 
case. Boards lean against and cover the mirror 
and the pictures. Nicholas Ivanovich is 
working at the bench; a carpenter is planing. 

Nicholas. 
{taking a finished board from the bench.) Is 
that all right? 

Carpenter. 
'{adjusts the plane.) It's not up to much. Go at 
it ! Don't be afraid. Like that. 

Nicholas. 
I wish I could, but I cannot manage it. 

Carpenter. 
But why do you go in for carpentering, sir? 
There are so many in our trade now, you can't 
make a living at it. 

Nicholas. 
{continues working.) I am ashamed to live in 
idleness. 

135 



i 3 6 THE LIGHT THAT 

Carpenter. 

But that's your lot in life, sir. God has given 
you property. 

Nicholas. 

That is just the point. I do not believe God 
gave anything of the kind. Men have amassed 
goods that they have taken from their brothers. 

Carpenter. 

(wondering.) That may all be very true. But 
still you need not work. 

Nicholas. 

I understand that it seems strange to you that 
in this house, where there is so much superfluity, I 
still wish to earn my living. 

Carpenter. 

(laughing.) Well, that's just like you gentlemen. 
There's nothing you don't want to do. Now just 
smooth off that plank. 

Nicholas. 

Perhaps you will not believe me and will laugh 
at me when I say that I used to live that way and 
was not ashamed of it, but now that I believe 
the teaching of Christ that we are all brothers, I 
am ashamed to live that life. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 137 

Carpenter. 
If you are ashamed give away your property. 

Nicholas. 
I wanted to, but I did not succeed. I have 
handed it over to my wife. 

A Voice. 
{from outside.) Father, may I come in? 

Nicholas. 

Of course you may! You may always come 
in. 

(Enter Luba.) 

Luba. 
Good-morning, Yakov. 

Carpenter. 
Good-morning, miss. 

Luba. 
(to her father.) Boris has left for the regiment. 
I'm so afraid he will do or say something he ought 
not to. What do you think ? 

Nicholas. 
What can I think? He will act according to 
his conscience. 



138; THE LIGHT THAT 

LUBA. 

But that's awful. He has only such a short 
time to serve now, and he may go and ruin his 
life. 

Nicholas. 

He did well in not coming to me. He knows 
I cannot tell him anything beyond what he knows 
himself. He told me himself that he asked for 
his discharge because he saw that there could not 
be a more lawless, cruel, brutal occupation than 
that which is based on murder. And that there 
is nothing more humiliating than to obey implicitly 
any man who happens to be his superior in rank. 
He knows all this. 

Luba. 
That is precisely what I'm afraid of. He 
knows of all that and he'll be sure to do some- 
thing. 

Nicholas. 
His conscience, that God within him, must de- 
cide that. If he had come to me I should have 
advised him only one thing, not to act on the dic- 
tates of reason, but only when his whole being 
demanded it. There's nothing worse than that. 
There was I, desiring to do Christ's bidding, 
which is to leave father, wife, children — and 
follow Him. And I was on the point of going. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 139 

And how did that end? It ended by my coming 
back and living in town, with you, in luxury. 
That was because I wanted to do something be- 
yond my strength, and it ended in placing me in a 
stupid and humiliating position. I want to live 
simply — to work — and in these surroundings, 
with footmen and hall porters, it becomes a pose. 
There, I see Yakov Nikanorovich is laughing at 
me. 

Carpenter. 
Why should I laugh? You pay me=— you 
give me tea ^Iam very grateful to you. 

Luba. 
Don't you think I had better go to him, 
father? 

Nicholas. 
My darling, I know how hard it is for you — 
how terrible ! But you ought not to be frightened. 
I am a man who understands life. No harm can 
come of it. All that seems to you bad, really 
brings joy to the heart. You must understand 
that a man who chooses that path has had to make 
a choice. There are circumstances in which the 
scales balance evenly between God and the devil. 
And at that moment God's greatest work is being 
done. Any interference from without is very 
dangerous, and only brings suffering. It is as 



i 4 o THE LIGHT THAT 

though a man were making a great effort to bear 
down the scale, and the touch of a finger may 
break his back. 

LUBA. 
But why suffer? 

Nicholas. 
It 19 the same thing as though a mother should 
say, " Why suffer? " But a child cannot be born 
without pain. And so it is with spiritual birth. 
I can only say one thing — Boris is a true Chris- 
tian, and therefore free. And if you cannot be 
like him, if you cannot believe God as he does, 
then believe God through him. 

Marie. 
(outside the door.) May I come in? 

Nicholas. 
Certainly — always. Quite a meeting here to- 
day. 

Marie. 
Our priest has come — Vasily Ermilovich. 
He is on his way to the bishop to resign his cure. 

Nicholas. 
Not really. Is he here? Luba, call him. He 
will certainly want to see me. 

(Exit Luba.)' 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 141 

Marie. 
I came to tell you about Vania. He is behav- 
ing so badly and will not study, and I am sure he 
will not pass. I have tried to talk to him but he 
is impertinent. 

Nicholas. 
Masha — >you know I do not sympathise with 
your mode of life and your ideas of education. 
It is an awful question whether I have the right to 
look on and see my children ruined. 

Marie. 
Then you must offer a definite substitute. 
What do you propose? 

Nicholas. 
I cannot say — I can only tell you that the first 
thing is to get rid of this corrupting luxury. 

Marie. 
And make peasants of them! That I cannot 
agree to. 

Nicholas. 
Then do not ask me. All that upsets you now 
is inevitable. 

{Enter Father Vasily and em* 
braces Nicholas Ivanovich.) 
Then you have really done it ! 



i 4 2 THE LIGHT THAT 

Father Vasily. 
I cannot go on any longer ! 
Nicholas. 
I did not expect it would come so soon. 

Father Vasily. 
It had to come. In my vocation one cannot 
remain indifferent. I had to confess, to adminis- 
ter the sacrament; how could I, knowing it to be 
false ! 

Nicholas. 
And what will happen now? 

Father Vasily. 
I am going to the bishop to be examined. I 
am afraid I shall be exiled to the Solavetsky Mon- 
astery. I thought at one time of running away 
and going abroad, of asking you to help me, but 
then I gave up the idea. It would be cowardly. 
The only thing is — my wife — 

Nicholas. 
Where is she? 

Father Vasily. 
She has gone to her father. My mother-in- 
law came and took away our son. That hurt. I 
wanted so much — ? (He stops, hardly restrain- 
ing his tears.) 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 143 

Nicholas. 
Well, God help you. Are you staying here 
with us? 

{Enter Alexandra Ivanovna 
with a letter.) 

Alexandra. 
A special messenger has brought this for you, 
Nicholas Ivanovich. How do you do, Father 

Vasily? 

Father Vasily. 
I am no longer Father Vasily, Alexandra Ivan- 
ovna. 

Alexandra. 
Really? Why? 

Father Vasily. 
I have discovered that we do not believe in the 
right way. 

Alexandra. 
Oh dear, oh dear, how sinful ! You are a good 
man, but what errors you do fall into. It is all 
Nicholas Ivanovich's doing. 

Father Vasily. 
Not Nicholas Ivanovich's, but Christ's. 

Alexandra. 
Oh, stop, stop! Why leave the fold of the 



i 4 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

Orthodox Church? I know you mean well, but 
you are ruining your own soul. 

Nicholas. 
(to himself.) I expected this. What am I to 
do? 

Alexandra. 
What is it? 

Nicholas. 
(reading.) It is from the Princess. This is 
what she writes: " Boris has refused to serve and 
has been arrested. You have been his ruin. It 
is your duty to save him. He is at the Kroutitsk 
Barracks." Yes, I must go to him, if only they 
will let me see him. (He takes off his apron, puts 
his coat on, and goes out.) (Exit all.) 

Scene II 

Office. A Clerk sitting. Sentry pacing up 
'and down at opposite door. Enter General 
with his aide-de-camp. Clerk jumps up. Sen- 
try salutes. 

General'. 

Where is the colonel? 

Clerk. 
He was asked to go to see the recruit, your 
excellency. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 1145 

General. 
Very well. Ask him to come here. 

Clerk. 
Yes, your excellency. 

General. 
What are you copying there? The deposition 
of the recruit? 

Clerk. 
Yes, your excellency. 

General 1 . 
Give it to me. 

(Clerk gives it and goes out.)] 

General 1 . 
(giving paper to Aide-de-camp.) Read it, 
please. 

Aide-de-camp. 
(reading.) "To the questions which were put 
to me: (1) Why I refused to take the oath; (2) 
Why I refused to carry out the demands of the 
government; and (3) what made me utter words 
offensive not only to the military body, but to the 
highest authority, I answer: to the first question: 
I will not take the oath because I profess the 
teaching of Christ. In His teaching Christ 
clearly forbids it, as in the Gospel, Matt. v. 33- 
37, and the Epistle of James, v. 12." 



1 46 THE LIGHT THAT 

General. 
There they are, discussing and putting their 
own interpretations on it. 

Aide-de-camp. 
(continuing.) " It is said in the Gospel Matt. v. 
37, 'Let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, 
nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of 
evil,' and James, v. 12: ' But above all things, my 
brethren, swear not, neither by heaven, neither by 
the earth, neither by any other oath; but let your 
yea be yea; and your nay, nay; lest ye fall into 
condemnation.' 

" But even if there were not such explicit pro- 
hibition of swearing in the Gospel, I would not 
swear to fulfil the will of men, for according to 
Christ's teaching I am bound to fulfil the will of 
God, which may not coincide with the will of 



men." 



General. 
There they are, discussing! If I had my way, 
such things would not occur. 

Aide-de-camp. 
(reading.) "And I refuse to comply with the 
demands of men calling themselves the govern- 
ment because — " 

General. 
What impudence! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS [147 

Aide-de-camp. 
" Because these demands are criminal and 
wicked. I am required to enter the army, to be 
prepared and instructed how to murder. This is 
forbidden by the Old as well as by the New Tes- 
tament, and, moreover, by my conscience. As to 
the third question — " 

(Enter Colonel' with Clerk, 
General shakes hands with him.)j 

Colonel. 
iYou are reading the deposition? 

General. 
Yes. Unpardonably impudent. Continue. 

Aide-de-camp. 
(reading.) " As to the third question, what in- 
duced me to speak offensively to the Council. I 
answer, that I was led by my desire to serve God 
and to denounce shams which are perpetrated in 
His name. This desire I hope to preserve while 
I live. That is why — »" 

General. 
Oh, enough of that rubbish ! The question is, 
how to root it all out, and prevent him from cor- 
rupting our men. (To Colonel.) Have you 
spoken to him? 



148 THE LIGHT THAT 

Colonel. 

I have been talking to him all this time. I tried 
to appeal to his conscience, to make him under- 
stand that he was only making matters worse for 
himself and that he would not achieve anything 
by such methods. I spoke to him about his fam- 
ily. He was very excited, but he stuck to his 
words. 

General 1 . 
It is idle to say much to him. We are soldiers ; 
men of actions, not words. Have him brought 
here. 

(Exit Aide-de-camp; and Clerk.) 

General". 
(sitting down.) No, colonel. You were wrong. 
Such fellows must be dealt with in quite another 
fashion. Strong measures are needed to cut off 
the offending member. One foul sheep ruins the 
whole flock. Sentimentality has no place here. 
His being a prince and having a mother and a 
fiancee does not concern us. There is a soldier be- 
fore us and we must fulfil the will of the Tsar. 

Colonel. 
I only thought it would be easier to influence 
him by persuasion. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 149 

General. 
Not at all. Firmness, only firmness. I had a 
case like this once before. He must be made to 
feel that he is nothing, that he is a grain of sand 
under the wheel of a chariot, and that he cannot 
impede its progress. 

Colonel. 
Well, we can try. 

General. 
'(beginning to get angry.) It is not a question of 
trying. I have nothing to try. I have served my 
sovereign for forty-four years, have given and am 
giving my life to the service, and suddenly a boy 
comes and wants to teach me, and quotes Bible 
texts. Let him talk that nonsense to the priests. 
To me he is either a soldier, or a prisoner. That's 
the end of it. 

(Enter Boris under escort of two 
soldiers. Aide-de-camp follows him 
in.) 

General. 
(pointing to Boris with his finger.) Place him 
there. 

Boris. 
No necessity whatever to " place " me any- 
where. I will stand or sit where I please, for as to 
your authority over me, I do not — 



150 THE LIGHT THAT 

General. 
Silence! You don't recognise my authority — 
I'll make you recognise it! 

Boris. 
(sits down.) How wrong of you to shout like 
that! 

General 1 . 
Lift him up and make him stand ! 

(Soldiers raise Boris up.) 

Boris. 
That you can do. You can kill me, but you can- 
not force me to obey you. 

General'. 
Silence, I say! Listen to what I say to you. 

Boris. 
I do not in the least wish to hear what you say. 

General. 
He is mad. He must be sent to the hospital 
to test his sanity. That's the only thing to do 
with him. 

Colonel. 
We have orders to send him to the Gendarmerie 
Department to be questioned. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 151 

General. 
Very well — do so. But put him into uniform. 

Colonel. 
He refuses to wear it. 

General. 
Then tie his hands and feet. {To Boris.) 
Now listen to what I am going to tell you. It is 
a matter of perfect indifference to me what be- 
comes of you. But for your own sake I would 
advise you to think it over. You will only rot 
in the fortress, and be of no use to any one. Give 
it up. You were excited, and so was I. {Slap- 
ping him on the shoulder.) Go — take your oath 
and drop all that nonsense. {To the Aide-de- 
camp.) Is the priest here? {To Boris.) 
Well? (Boris is silent.) Why don't you an- 
swer ? I assure you I'm advising you for your own 
good. The weakest goes to the wall. You can 
keep your own ideas and merely serve your time. 
We won't be hard on you. Well? 

Boris. 
I have nothing more to say. I have said every- 
thing. 

General. 

Just now you said that there were such and such 
verses in the Gospel. Surely the priests know 



152 THE LIGHT THAT 

that? You'd better talk that over with the priest, 
and then think it over. That's surely the best 
way. Good-bye. I hope to meet you again and 
be able to congratulate you on your entrance into 
the service of the Tsar. Send the priest here. 

(Exit General with Colonel 
and Aide-de-camp.) 

Boris. 
(to soldiers and Clerk.) You see how they talk. 
They are perfectly aware themselves that they are 
deceiving you. Don't give in to them. Throw 
down your arms. Go away. Let them flog you 
to death in their disciplinary battalions. Even 
that is better than to be the slaves of these im- 
postors ! 

Clerk. 
No, that's impossible. How can we get on 
without the army? It is impossible. 

Boris. 

We must not reason in that way. We must do 
just as God desires. And God desires us to — 

Soldier. 

Then why do they call it the " Christ-serving 
Army? " 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 153 

Boris. 
That is not said anywhere. It's the invention 
of these impostors. 

Soldier. 
How so ? The bishops must know. 

{Enter Police Officer with 
Stenographer.) 

Police Officer. 
{to Clerk.) Is Prince Cheremshanov the re- 
cruit here? 

Clerk. 
Yes, sir. There he is. 

Police Officer. 
Please step this way. Are you the Prince Boris 
Cheremshanov who refused to take the oath? 

Boris. 
I am he. 

{Officer sits down and motions to 
a seat opposite.) 

Police Office^. 
Please sit down. 

Boris. 
I think there's no use in our talking. 

Police Officer. 
I don't agree. To you at any rate it may be 



154 THE LIGHT THAT 

of advantage. You see, I have been informed 
that you refused military service and refused to 
take the oath, which raises the suspicion that you 
belong to the revolutionary party. And this I 
have to investigate. If this is true, then we must 
remove you from military service and either put 
you in prison or exile you, according to the extent 
of your participation in the revolutionary move- 
ment. Otherwise we leave you to the military 
authorities. Please note that I have told you 
everything quite frankly, and I trust you will show 
the same confidence in talking to us. 

Boris. 
In the first place I cannot have any confidence 
in those who wear that (pointing to the uniform.) 
In the second place your very office is of such a 
nature that I cannot respect it, but, on the con- 
trary, despise it from my heart. But I will not 
refuse to answer your questions. What is it you 
want to know? 

Police Officer. 
First, please, your name, rank, and religious 
faith. 

Boris. 
You know all that, so that I will not answer. 
Only one of those questions is of any importance 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 155 

to me. I do not belong to the so-called Orthodox 
Church. 

Police Officer. 
Then what is your religion ? 

Boris. 
I cannot define it. 

Police Officer. 
Still,- 

Boris. 
Let us say Christian, founded on the Sermon 
on the Mount. 

Police Officer. 
Take that down. 

{Stenographer writes.) 

Police Officer. 
(to Boris. y But you acknowledge that you be- 
long to some state, some class? 
Boris. 
I do not admit that. I consider myself a man, 
a servant of God. 

Police Officer. 
But why do you not recognise your allegiance 
to the Russian State? 

Boris. 
Because I do not recognise the existence of any 
State. 



156 THE LIGHT THAT 

Police Officer. 
What do you mean — when you say you do not 
recognise it? Do you want to destroy it? 

Boris. 
Most certainly I do, and I work to that end. 

Police Officer. 
(to Scribe.) Take that down. [(To Boris.)" 
By what means do you work? 

Boris. 
By denouncing deceit and lies, and by spread- 
ing the truth. Just now, the moment before you 
entered, I was telling these soldiers that they 
must not believe the deceit in which they are made 
to share. 

Police Officer. 
But beside these measures of denunciation and 
proselytising, do you admit other means? 

Boris. 
I not only exclude violence, but I consider it 
the greatest sin, and all underhand actions also. 

Police Officer. 
(to Scribe.) Take it down. Very good. Now 
allow me to ask you about your acquaintances, 
your friends. Do you know Ivashenkov? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 157 

Boris. 
No. 

Police Officer. 
And Klein? 

Boris. 
I have heard of him, but I have never seen him. 

{Enter Chaplain.) 

Police Officer. 
Well, I think that is all. I consider that you 
are not a dangerous person. You do not con- 
cern our department. I hope you will soon be 
released. Good-day. {Shakes hands.) 

Boris. 
There is one thing I should like to say to you. 
Excuse me, but I cannot resist saying it. Why 
have you chosen such a bad and wicked calling? 
I would advise you to leave it. 

Police Officer. 
'(smiling.) Thank you for your advice: I have 
my reasons. Now, father, I'll give up my place 
to you. 

r {The priest, an old man with 
cross and Testament, steps for- 
ward. The Scribe advances to 
receive his blessing.) 



158 THE LIGHT THAT 

Chaplain. 
(to Boris.) Why do you grieve your superiors 
and refuse to perform the duty of a Christian 
by serving your Tsar and country? 

Boris. 
(smiling.) It is precisely because I wish to per- 
form the duties of a Christian that I do not wish 
to be a soldier. 

Chaplain. 
Why do you not wish it? It is written, " Lay 
down your life for your friends." That is the 
part of a true Christian. 

Boris. 
Yes, to lay down your own, but not take the 
life of others. To give up my life is just what 
I wish. 

Chaplain. 
You judge wrongly, young man. And what 
did Jesus Christ say to the soldiers? 

Boris. 
(smiling.) That only proves that even in His 
time soldiers plundered, and He forbade them 
to do so. 

Chaplain. 
Well — why do you refuse to take the oath? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 159 

Boris. 
You know it is forbidden in the Gospel. 

Chaplain. 

Not at all. How was it that when Pilate said, 

" In the name of God I ask you, are you the 

Christ? " Our Lord Jesus Christ answered, " I 

am He." That proves an oath is not forbidden. 

Boris. 
Are you not ashamed to say that, you, an old 
man? 

Chaplain. 
I advise you not to be obstinate. It is not for 
us to change the world. Take the oath, and have 
done with it. As for what is sin and what is not 
sin, leave that for the Church to decide. 

Boris. 
Leave it to you? Are you not afraid to take 
such a weight of sin upon your soul? 

Chaplain. 
What sin? I have always been true to the 
faith in which I was educated. I have been a 
priest now for over thirty years; there can be no 
sin upon my soul. 

Boris. 
Then whose is the sin of deceiving so many 



160 THE LIGHT THAT 

people? You know what their heads are full of. 
(Points to the sentry.) 

Chaplain. 
That, young man, is not for us to judge. Our 
duty is to obey our superiors. 

Boris. 
Leave me alone. I pity you, and what you say 
disgusts me. If you were like that general it 
would not be so bad. But you come with cross 
and Bible to try to persuade me in the name of 
Christ to deny Christ. Go — go! (Excitedly.)] 
Go. Take me away where I shall see no one. 
I am tired — I am terribly tired. 

Chaplain. 
Well, good-bye. 

(Enter Aide-de-camp. Boris re- 
tires to back of scene. ) 

Aide-de-camp. 
Well? 

Chaplain. 
Great stubbornness. Great insubordination. 

Aide-de-camp. 
He has not consented to take the oath and to 
serve? 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 161: 

Chaplain. 
Not in the least. 

Aide-de-camp. 
Then I shall have to take him to the hospital. 

Chaplain. 
To make out that he is ill. Of course that's 
the best way; otherwise his example might be bad 
for the rest. 

Aide-de-camp. 
He will be examined in the ward for mental 
ailments. These are my orders. 

Chaplain. 
Of course. Good-day. (Exit.)] 
Aide-de-camp. 
'(approaching Boris.) Please come with me. I 
am ordered to escort you. 

Boris. 
Where to? 

Aide-de-camp. 
Just for a time, to the hospital, where you will 
be more comfortable, and will have leisure to 
think the matter over. 

Boris. 
I have thought it over for some time. But let 
us go. (Exeunt.)' 



1 62 THE LIGHT THAT 

Scene III 

Reception-room in the Hospital. 

(Head Physician and House 
Surgeon and Patients in hospi- 
tal dress. Warders in blouses.) t 

Sick Officer. 
I tell you, you simply make me worse. There 
were times when I felt quite well. 

Head Physician. 
Don't get so excited. I am quite willing to 
discharge you, but you know yourself that it is 
unsafe for you to be at liberty. If I knew that 
you would be taken care of — = 

Sick Officer. 
You think I shall begin to drink again. Oh 
no ! I've learned my lesson. Every additional 
day spent here is simply killing me. You do just 
the contrary to what (over excited) should be 
done. You are cruel. It is all very well for 
you — 

Head Physician. 
Calm yourself. (Makes a sign to WARDERS 
who approach the Officer from behind.) 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 163 

Sick Officer. 
It's all very well for you to talk when you are 
free. But how do you think I feel here in the 
company of lunatics? (To Warders.) Why 
are you coming so near to me? Get away? 

Head Physician. 
I beg you to be clam. 

Sick Officer. 
And I beg, I insist on my discharge. {Shrieks, 
rushes at doctor. Warders seize him ^— a strug- 
gle — they lead him away.) 

House Surgeon. 
Same thing all over again. He was on ihe 
point of striking you. 

Head Physician. 

Alcoholic subject, and there's nothing to be 
done for him. Still there is some improvement. 

(Enter Aide-de-camp.) 

Aide-de-camp. 
Good morning. 

Head Physician. 
Good morning. 



1 64 THE LIGHT THAT 

Aide-de-camp. 

I have brought you a very interesting case. A 
certain Prince Cheremshanov was to do his mili- 
tary service, and refused on the ground of the 
Gospel. He was handed over to the police, but 
they found him outside their jurisdiction, and de- 
cided it was not a political case. The chaplain 
talked to him, but without the slightest effect. 

Head Physician. 

(laughing.)' And as usual you bring him to us 
as the last resort. Well, let's have a look at him. 

(Exit House Surgeon.)^ 

Aide-de-camp. 
They say He is a well-educated fellow, and that 
he's engaged to a rich girl. It is very strange. I 
must say the hospital is exactly the right place for 
him. 

Head Physician. 
It must be a case of mania e=a 

(Boris is broughl in.y 

Good morning. Please sit down. We'll have 
a little talk. (To the others.) Leave us alone. 

(Exeunt all save Boris and Physician.) 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 165 

Boris. 
I would like to ask you, if you are going to 
shut me up somewhere, to do it as quickly as pos- 
sible and let me have a rest. 

Head Physician. 
Excuse me: I must comply with the regulations. 
I will merely put a few questions to you. How 
do you feel? From what are you suffering? 

Boris. 
There's nothing the matter with me. I am 
perfectly well. 

Head Physician. 
Yes ; but your conduct is different from the con- 
duct of others. 

Boris. 
I am acting according to the dictates of my 
conscience. 

Head Physician. 
You have refused to perform your military 
duty. What is your motive? 

Boris. 
I am a Christian, and therefore cannot kill. 

Head Physician. 
But is it not necessary to protect the country 



1 66 THE LIGHT THAT 

from foreign enemies, and restrain from evil 
those who disturb the peace within? 

Boris. 

The country is not attacked by any enemies, 
and as for disturbers of the peace within her bor- 
ders, there are more of those within the Govern- 
ment than among the people towards whom the 
Government uses violence. 

Head Physician. 
What do you mean by that? 

Boris. 

I mean that the chief cause of evil — alcohol 
— is sold by the Government; a false religious 
creed is spread by the Government; and the very 
military service, such as I am required to perform, 
and which is the principal means of corruption in 
the country, is required by the Government. 

Head Physician. 

Then, according to your views, Government 
and State are unnecessary. 

Boris. 

I do not know; but I am quite sure I must not 
participate in these evils. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 167 

Head Physician. 
But what will become of the world? We are 
given a mind with which to look ahead. 

Boris. 
Yes, and we are also given common sense to see 
that the organisation of society shall not be 
founded on violence, but on love, and that the re- 
fusal of one man to participate in evil has noth- 
ing dangerous in it — 

Head Physician. 
Now please let me make an examination. [Will 
you kindly lie down? (Begins to examine him.) 
Do you feel any pain here ? 

Boris. 

No. 

Head Physician. 
Nor here ? 

Boris. 
No. 

Head Physician. 
Breathe. Now don't breathe. Thank you. 
Now allow me. ( Takes out a measure and meas- 
ures his nose and his forehead.) Now be so kind 
as to shut your eyes and walk. 



1 68 THE LIGHT THAT 

Boris. 
Aren't you ashamed to do all that? 

Head Physician. 
What? 

Boris. 

All these silly things. You know perfectly 
well that I'm all right, and have been sent here 
for refusing to take part in their wickedness, and 
as they had no arguments to offer in opposition to 
my truth, they pretend that they think me abnor- 
mal. And you aid them in that! That is des- 
picable and disgraceful. You'd better stop it. 

Head Physician. 
Then you do not wish to walk? 

Boris. 

No, I do not. You may torment me as much 
as you like. That is your business. But I do not 
wish to help you in it. {Vehemently.) Stop it, 
I say! 

(Head Physician presses a but- 
ton. Two Warders enter.) 

Head Physician. 
Be calm, please. I quite understand that your 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 169 

nerves are rather over-strained. Would you not 
like to go to your quarters? 

'{Enter House Surgeon.) 

House Surgeon. 
Visitors have come for Cheremshanov. 

Boris. 
Who are they? 

House Surgeon. 
Sarintsev and his daughter. 

Boris. 
I should like to see them. 

Head Physician. 
I have no objection. Ask them in. iYou may 
receive them here. 

{Enter Nicholas Ivanovich and 
Luba. Princess Cheremshanova 
puts her head into the door, saying, 
" Go in, I'll come later") 

Luba. 
{goes straight to Boris, takes his face between 
her hands, and kisses him.) Poor Boris! 

Boris. 
No, don't pity me. I feel so well — so happy. 



1 7 o THE LIGHT THAT 

I am so easy in my mind. ( To Nicholas Ivan- 
OVICH.) How do you do? {Embraces him.) 

Nicholas. 

I came to tell you something important. In 
the first place, it is worse in such cases to overdo 
it than to do too little; in the second place, you 
must act according to the Gospel, taking no 
thought as to your future words and acts. When 
taken before the authorities " think not what ye 
shall say, for the Holy Ghost will teach you in 
that hour what ye ought to say." The moment 
to act is not when your reason dictates this or 
that, but only when your whole being determines 
your action. 

Boris. 
That's just what I did. I did not think I 
should refuse to serve. But when I saw all this 
falsehood, the emblem of justice, the documents, 
the police, and the members of the Council smok- 
ing — I could not help speaking as I did. It 
seemed a terrible thing to do, but only till I began. 
Then all became so simple and delightful. 

(Luba sits weeping.) 

Nicholas. 
Above all, do nothing for the sake of the praise 
of men, or in order to please those whose esteem 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 171 

you value. As for myself, I tell you honestly that 
if you took the oath this moment and entered the 
army, I would love and respect you no less; pos- 
sibly even more than before, because it is not 
what is done in the world that is of value, but 
what is done within the soul. 

Boris. 
That is certainly so, because if a thing is done 
within the soul, it will bring about a change in 
the world. 

Nicholas. 
Well, I have said what I had to say. Your 
mother is here, and she is quite broken-hearted. 
If you can do what she desires, do it. That is 
what I wanted to tell you. 

{In the corridor frightful scream- 
ing of the lunatics. One lunatic 
bursts into the room. Warders fol- 
low and drag him away.) 

Luba. 
This is dreadful! And you will have to be 
here! {Weeps.) 

Boris. 
This doesn't frighten me. Nothing frightens 
me now. I feel at peace. The only thing that I 



172 THE LIGHT THAT 

fear is your attitude to all this. Help me — I'm 
sure you will help me. 

Luba. 
How can I be glad? 

Nicholas. 
Be glad. That is impossible. Neither am I 
glad. I suffer for him and would willingly take 
his place. But I am suffering, and yet I know 
that it is for the best. 

Luba. 
For the best ! When will they let him go ? 

Boris. 
No one knows. I am not thinking about the 
future; the present is joyful. And you could 
make it still more so. 

{Enter Princess.) 

Princess. 
I can wait no longer. ( To Nicholas Ivano- 
VICH.) Well, have you persuaded him? Are 
you willing, Boris darling? You must know how 
I have suffered. Thirty years of my life have 
been given to you. To bring you up and be so 
proud of you, and then when all is ready and fin- 
ished, suddenly to give up everything. Prison, 
disgrace ! No, Boris — ■> 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 173 

Boris. 
Listen, mother. 

Princess. 
'{to Nicholas Ivanovich.) Why don't you 
say something? You have brought about his 
ruin, and you ought to persuade him. It's all 
very well for you. Luba, speak to him ! 

LUBA. 
What can I do? 

Boris. 
Mother, try to understand that some things are 
impossible. Just as it is impossible to fly, so it 
is impossible for me to serve in the army. 

Princess. 
You only imagine you cannot! It's all non- 
sense. Others have served, and are serving now. 
You and Nicholas Ivanovich have invented a new 
Christian creed that is not Christian at all. It is 
a diabolical creed, that causes suffering to every 
one around you. 

Boris. 
So it is written in the Gospel. 

Princess. 
Nothing of that sort is said. And if it is, it's 



174 THE LIGHT THAT 

simply stupid. Boris darling, spare me! (Falls 
on his neck and sobs.) My whole life has been 
full of sorrow. You have been my only gleam 
of gladness, and now you turn it into anguish. 
Boris, have pity! 

Boris. 
It is very, very painful to me, mother, but I 
cannot promise you that. 

Princess. 
Do not refuse. Say you will try! 

Nicholas. 
Say you will think it over, and do think it over. 

Boris. 
Very well « — I will do that. But have pity on 
me, also, mother. It is hard for me too. 

(J gain 'desperate screams in a corridor ?j 

I am in a lunatic asylum, you see, and I may lose 
my reason. 

[Enter Head Physician.) 

Head Physician. 
Madame, this may have the worst results. 
Your son is in a very excited state. I think we 
had better consider the visit at an end. The reg- 
ular visiting day is Thursday before twelve. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 175 

Princess. 
Well, well, I will go. Good-bye, Boris. Only 
'do think it over. Spare me, and on Thursday 
meet me with good news. (Kisses him.) 

Nicholas. 
(shaking hands with him.) Think it over, with 
God's help, as if to-morrow you were going to die. 
That is the only way to make the right decision. 
Good-bye. 

Boris. 
[(approaching Luba.) What are you going to 
say to me? 

Luba. 
What can I say? I cannot be untruthful. I 
do not understand why you torture yourself and 
others. I do not understand, and there is noth- 
ing I can say. { (Weeps.) 

r (They all go.) 

Boris. 
(alone.) Oh, how difficult, how difficult it is! 
God help me! 

(Enter Warders with hospital attire.) 

Warder. 
Will you please put this on? 

Boris. 
[(begins to change — then.) No, I will not! 
(They change his garments by force.) 



ACT IV 

Scene I 

Moscow. T A year has passed since the third 
act. Big drawing-room with piano arranged for 
dancing party in Sarintsev's house. Footman ar- 
ranges flowers in front of piano. A Christmas 
tree. 

{Enter Marie Ivanovna in ele- 
gant silk dress, with Alexandra 
Ivanovna.) 

Marie. 

It isn't a ball. It is only a small dance. A 
party, as we used to say, for the young people. I 
can't let my children go out to dances and never 
give a party myself. 

Alexandra. 
I'm afraid Nicholas will be displeased. 

Marie. 

What can I do? {To Footman.) Put it 
here. Heaven knows I do not want to grieve 
him. But I think he is less exacting now, on the 
whole. 

176 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 177 

Alexandra. 
Oh no! Only he does not talk about it. He 
seemed quite upset when he went to his room 
after dinner. 

Marie. 
But what is to be done? what is to be done? 
We must all live. There are six children, and if 
I did not provide some amusement for them at 
home, Heaven knows what they would do. At 
any rate, I am happy about Luba. 

Alexandra. 
Has he proposed? 

Marie. 

Practically. He has spoken to her and she has 
accepted him. 

Alexandra. 
That will be another awful blow for him. 

Marie. 
But he knows. He cannot help knowing. 

Alexandra. 
He does not like him. 

Marie. 
(to Footman.) Put the fruit on the side-board. 
Whom do you mean? Alexis Mikhailovich? 



178 THE LIGHT THAT 

Of course not, for he is the embodied negation of 
all his theories — a man of the world, nice, kind, 
agreeable. Oh, that awful nightmare of Boris 
Cheremshanov ! How is he now? 

Alexandra. 
Lisa has been to see him. He's still there. 
She says he has grown very thin, and the doctors 
are anxious about his life or reason. 

Marie. 
He is a victim of his dreadful theories. His 
life ruined — to what end? It certainly was not 
my wish. 

(Enter Pianist.) 
You have come to play for the dancing? 

Pianist. 
Yes, I am the pianist. 

Marie. 
Please sit down and wait. Will you have some 
tea? 

Pianist. 
No, thank you. (Goes to piano.)' 

Marie. 
I never wished it. I was fond of Boris. But 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 179 

of course he was no match for Luba, especially 
after taking up with Nicholas's ideas. 

Alexandra. 
Still, his strength of conviction is extraordinary. 
What agony he has been through! They tell 
him that if he will not give in he must stay where 
he is or else be sent to the fortress, and he gives 
them but one answer. And Lisa says he's so 
happy, even merry. 

Marie. 
Fanatic! Oh, there's Alexis Mikhailovich ! 

{Enter the brilliant Alexis 
Mikhailovich Starkovsky in 
evening dress.) 

Starkovsky. 

I have come early. (Kisses the hands of both 
ladies.) 

Marie. 
So much the better. 

Starkovsky. 
And Lubov Nicolaevna ? She said she was go- 
ing to dance a lot to make up for what she had 
missed. I volunteered to help her. 

Marie. 
She is arranging the favours for the cotillion. 



1 8b THE LIGHT THAT 

Starkovsky. 
I'll go and help her. May I? 

Marie. 
Certainly. 

(Starkovsky turns to go, and 
meets Luba coming toward him car- 
rying a cushion on which are stars 
'and ribbons. Luba in evening 
dress, not low-necked.) 

Luba. 

OH, there you are! That's right. Do help 
me. There are two more cushions in the draw- 
ing-room, bring them here. How do you do! 
How do you do ! 

Starkovsky. 
I am off! (Goes.) 

Marie. 
(to Luba.) Listen, Luba. To-night our guests 
are sure to make insinuations and ask questions. 
May we announce it? 

Luba. 
No, mother, no. Why? Let them ask. It 
would grieve father. 

Marie. 
But he must know, or at least guess. And we 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 181 

shall have to tell him sooner or later. I really 
think it is best to announce it to-night. It is a 
farcical secret. 

Luba. 
No, no, mother — please ! It would spoil the 
whole evening. No, don't! 

Marie. 
[Very well, as you like. 

Luba. 
Or, anyhow, not till the end of the evening, 
just before supper. (Calling out.) Well, are 
you bringing them?» 

Marie. 
I will go and see to Natasha. 

(Exit with Anna Ivanovna.) 

Starkovsky. 

(brings three cushions, the top one under his chin, 
and lets something drop.) Don't you trouble, 
Lubov Nicolaevna. I'll pick them up. I say, 
what a lot of favours you've got! The thing is 
to distribute them properly! Vania, come here. 

(Enter Vania, carrying more fa- 
vours.) 



1 82 THE LIGHT THAT 

Vania. 
That's the last of them. Luba, Alexis Mik- 
hailovich and I have got a bet on as to who will 
get most favours. 

Starkovsky. 
It's very easy for you. You know everybody, 
so you are sure of theirs in advance. I must win 
the girls before I can get any favours at all. So 
I have a handicap of forty points, you see. 

Vania. 
But you are grown up, and I'm only a boy. 

Starkovsky. 
I'm not very grown up, and so I am worse than 
a boy. 

Luba. 
Vania, please go to my room and bring me the 
paste and my needle-case; they're on the shelf. 
But for mercy's sake don't break the watch there. 

Vania. 
(running of.) I'll break everything. 

Starkovsky. 
(takes Luba's hand.) May I, Luba? I am so 
happy. (Kisses her hand.) The mazurka is 
mine, but that isn't enough. There isn't time in 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 183 

the mazurka to say much, and I have a great deal 
to say. May I telegraph to my people and tell 
them you have accepted me and how happy I am? 

Luba. 
Yes, you can do it to-night. 

Starkovsky. 
One word more. How will Nicholas Ivano- 
vich take the news? Have you told him? Have 
you told him? Yes? 

Luba. 
No, I have not, but I will. He will take it just 
as he takes everything now that concerns his fam- 
ily. He will say, " Do as you like." But in his 
heart he will be grieved. 

Starkovsky. 
Because I am not Cheremshanov — because I 
am a chamberlain, a marshal of nobility? 

Luba. 
Yes. But I have tried to fight against myself 
f — to deceive myself for his sake. And it is not 
because I do not love him that I do not follow his 
wishes, but because I cannot act a lie. And he 
says himself that one should not. I long to live 
my own life! 



1 84 THE LIGHT THAT 

Starkovsky. 
Life is the only truth there is. What has be- 
come of Cheremshanov? 

Luba. 
(agitated.) Do not talk to me about him. I 
want to find fault with him even when he is suffer- 
ing. I know it is because I am to blame about 
him. But one thing I do know: that there is 
such a thing as love — real love r— = and that I 
never had for him. 

Starkovsky. 
Do you really mean it, Luba? 

Luba. 
You want me to say that it is you that I love 
with a real love? I will not say that. I cer- 
tainly love you. . . . But it is a different kind of 
love. Neither of them is the real thing. If I 
could only put them both together. . . . 

Starkovsky. 
Oh no, I'm quite content with mine. [(Kisses 
her hand.) Luba! 

Luba. 

(moving from him.) No; we must talk this 
over. You see, the guests are beginning to ar- 
rive. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 185, 

{Enter Countess with Xonia 
and a younger girl.)] 
Mother will be here directly. 

Countess. 
We are the first then? 

Starkovsky. 
Somebody must be first. I offered to make an 
india-rubber lady to be the first arrival. 

(Enter Stephen with Vania, 
who brings the paste and needles.)^ 

Stephen. 
(to Tonia.) I hoped to see you last night at the 
Italian opera. 

Tonia. 
We were at my aunt's, sewing for the poor. 

(Enter Students, Ladies, and 
Marie Ivanovna.) 

Countess. 
(to Marie Ivanovna.) Shall we not see Nich- 
olas Ivanovich? 

Marie. 
No; he never leaves his rooms. 

Stephen. 
How did Cheremshanov's affair end? 



1 86 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
He is still in the asylum, poor boy. 

Countess. 
What obstinacy! 

One of the Guests. 
What an extraordinary delusion! What good 
can come of it? 

Student. 
Take your partners for the quadrille, please ! 

(Claps his hands. They take up 
their positions and dance. Enter 
Alexandra Ivanovna, and walks 
up to her sister.) 

Alexandra. 
He is frightfully excited. He has been to see 
Boris, and on returning he saw the dancing going 
on. He wants to go away. I went up to his 
door, and heard his conversation with Alexander 
Petrovich. 

Marie. 
What did they say? 

Voice from the Dance. 
Rond des dames. Les cavaliers en avant. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 187 

Alexandra. 
He has made up his mind that he cannot pos- 
sibly continue to live here, and he is going away. 

Marie. 
What a torment that man is! 

(Exit Marie Ivanovna.) 

Scene II 

Nicholas Ivanovich's room. Music is 
heard from afar. He has his coat on, and puts a 
letter on the table. With him is a tramp, Alex- 
ander Petrovich, in rags. 

Alexander. 
Don't be uneasy. We can get to the Caucasus 
without a penny ; and when we are once there you 
can arrange matters. 

Nicholas. 
We will take the train to Tula, and then we 
will go on foot. Now, we're ready. (Puts the 
letter in the middle of the table, and goes to- 
wards the door. Meets Marie Ivanovna, who 
enters.) 

Nicholas. 
What have you come for? 



1 88 THE LIGHT THAT 

Marie. 
To see what you are doing. 

Nicholas. 
I am suffering terribly. 

Marie. 
What have I come for? Not to let you do a 
cruel thing. Why do you do it? What have I 
done? 

Nicholas. 
Why? Because I cannot go on living like this; 
I cannot endure this horrible life of depravity ! 

Marie. 
But this is awful. You call my life, which I 
devote to you and to the children, depraved! 
{Noticing the presence of Alexander Petro- 
VICH.) Renvoyez au moins cet homme. Je ne 
veux pas qu'il soit temoin de cette conversation. 

Alexander. 
{in broken French.) Comprehez toujour s mot 
parte. 

Nicholas. 
Wait for me outside, Alexander Petrovich. I 
will come directly. 

'{Exit Alexander Petrovich.) 1 



SHINES IN DARKNESS [189 

Marie. 
What can you have in common with that man? 
Why he is more to you than your wife passes all 
comprehension. Where do you intend to go? 

Nicholas. 
I was leaving a letter for you. I did not want 
to talk about it. It is too painful. But if you 
wish I will try to tell you calmly what is in it. 

Marie. 
No; I absolutely cannot understand why you 
hate and punish the wife who has given up every- 
thing for you. Can you say that I go out into 
society, that I love dress or flirtations ? No ! my 
whole life has been devoted to my family. I 
nursed all my children myself; I brought them 
up myself; and during these last years the whole 
burden of their education and all the manage- 
ment of our affairs has fallen on me. 

Nicholas. 

'{interrupting^ But all the weight of that bur- 
den is due to your refusal to lead the life I pro- 
posed. 

Marie. 

But what you proposed was impossible. SsK 
anybody! I could not let the children grow up 



1 9 o THE LIGHT THAT 

illiterate, as you desired; and I could not do the 
cooking and the washing with my own hands. 

Nicholas. 
I never asked you to. 

Marie. 
Well, something very like it. You call your- 
self a Christian, and you want to do good in the 
world. You say you love humanity. Then why 
do you torment the woman who has given her 
whole life to you? 

Nicholas. 
In what way am I tormenting you? I love 

you, but- — ' 

Marie. 
Is it not tormenting me to leave me and to go 
away? What will all the world say? One of 
the two — either that I am a bad, wicked woman, 
or that you are mad. 

Nicholas. 
Let them say I am mad then. I cannot live 
like this. 

Marie. 
Why is it so terrible that I should give a party? 
• — the only one during the whole season, for fear 
of grieving you? I only did it because every one 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 191 

said it was a necessity. Ask Mary, ask Varvara 
Vasilievna. You treat this as a crime, and make 
me suffer disgrace for it. It is not so much the 
disgrace I mind. The worst of it is that you do 
not love me — you love the whole world, even 
that drunkard Alexander Petrovich. . . . 
But I still love you — I cannot live without you. 
What have I done? what have I done? (She 
weeps,) 

Nicholas. 

•You will not understand my life — my spiritual 
life. 

Marie. 

I do want to, but I can't. I only see that your 
idea of Christianity makes you hate your family, 
and hate me. Why, I do not understand. 

Nicholas. 
But others understand. 

Marie. 
Who? Alexander Petrovich, who gets money 
from you? 

Nicholas. 
He and Ermilovich, Tonia, and Vasily. But 
that is immaterial. If no one understood, it 
would alter nothing. 

Marie. 
Vasily Ermilovich has repented, and has re- 



i 9 2 THE LIGHT THAT 

turned to his parish, and at this very moment 
Tonia is dancing and flirting with Stephen. 

Nicholas. 
I am very sorry. But this cannot make black 
white, nor can it change my life. Masha, you 
do not need me — let me go ! I have tried to 
take part in your life — to bring into it the thing 
that is life to me — but It cannot be done. The 
only result is that I torture both you and myself; 
and it is not only torture to me, but it ruins 
everything I attempt. Everybody — even that 
very Alexander Petrovich — has the right to say, 
and does say, that I am an impostor: that I say 
one thing and do another; that I preach the pov- 
erty of Christ and live in luxury, under cover of 
having given everything to my wife. 

Marie. 
Then you are ashamed of yourself before the 
world? Are you not above that J 

Nicholas. 

It is not that I am ashamed of myself — though 
I certainly am — but that I am hindering the work 
of God. 

Marie. 

You say yourself that the work of God goes on 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 193 

in spite of all opposition. But leaving that aside, 
tell me what you want me to do. 

Nicholas. 
I have told you. 

Marie. 
But, Nicholas, you know that that is impossi- 
ble. Think of it. Luba is just going to be mar- 
ried, Vania has entered the university, and Missie 
and Katia are at school : how could I interrupt all 
that? 

Nicholas. 
But I? What am I to do? 

Marie. 
Practise what you preach: endure and love. 
Is that so difficult? Only put up with us — do 
not deprive us of yourself! What is it that dis- 
tresses you so? 

(Vania rushes in,) 

Vania. 
Mother, you are wanted. 

Marie. 
Say I can't come. Go; go away. 

Vania. 
Please come! 

\Exit.) 



i 9 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
You will not see my point of view, and under- 
stand me. 

Marie. 
I only wish I could. 

Nicholas. 

No, you do not wish to understand; and we are 
growing further and further apart. Put yourself 
in my place for a moment and think, and you 
will understand. In the first place, life here is 
depraved — such words anger you, but I can use 
no other when speaking of a life founded on rob- 
bery — because the money you live on comes from 
the land you have stolen from the people. Be- 
sides, I see how the children are being corrupted 
by it. " Woe to him who offends one of these 
little ones ! " — and before my very eyes I see my 
children ruined and corrupted. Nor can I bear 
to see grown men dressed up in swallow-tailed 
coats serving us as though they were slaves. 
Every meal is a misery. 

Marie. 

But it has always been so. It is so in all 
houses — abroad and everywhere. 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 195 

Nicholas. 

Since I have realised that we are all brothers, 
I cannot look on without pain. 

Marie. 

It is your own fault. One can imagine any- 
thing. 

Nicholas. 

(hotly.) This want of understanding is awful. 
To-day I spent the morning among the scavengers 
in the Rijanov Night Lodgings. I saw a child 
dying of starvation; a boy that had become a 
drunkard; a consumptive laundress going to rinse 
her linen in the river: and I come home and a 
footman in a white tie opens my front door to me. 
I hear my son, a young boy, tell that footman to 
bring him a glass of water, and I see a regiment 
of servants that work for us. Then I go to 
Boris, who is giving up his life for the truth, and 
I see this pure, strong, resolute man deliberately 
driven to madness and to death in order that they 
may get rid of him. I know, and they know, that 
he has organic heart trouble; and they provoke 
him, and then put him among raving maniacs! 
Oh, it is awful ! And now I return home to learn 
that my daughter — the only one of my family 
who understood not me, but the truth — has 



196 THE LIGHT THAT 

thrown over both the truth and the man she was 
engaged to, and had promised to love, and is go- 
ing to marry a flunkey — a liar. 

Marie. 
What a very Christian sentiment! 

Nicholas. 
Yes, it is wrong. I am to blame. But I want 
you to enter into my feeling. I only say that she 
has repudiated the truth. 

Marie. 
You say the truth. The rest, the majority, say 
error. Vasily Ermilovich thought he had gone 
astray, but now he returned to the Church. 

Nicholas. 
It is impossible. 

Marie. 
He wrote all about it to Lisa, and she will 
show you the letter. These things do not last. 
It's the same with Tonia, not to mention Alex- 
ander Petrovich, who simply finds it profitable. 

Nicholas. 
(getting angry.) That is immaterial. I only 
want you to understand me. I still consider that 
truth remains truth. It is painful to me to come 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 197 

home and see a Christmas tree, a ball, hundreds 
squandered when others are dying of hunger. I 
can not live like this! Have mercy on me! I 
am worn out. Let me go ! Good-bye. 
Marie. 
If you go, I go with you; and if not with you, I 
will throw myself under your train. Let them all 
perish — all — Missie — Katia — all of them. 
My God, my God, what anguish! Why is it? 

(Sobbing.) 
Nicholas. 
(calling at the door.) Alexander Petrovich! 
Go. I shall not go with you. I shall stay. 
(Takes of his coat.) 

Marie. 
We have not much longer to live. Do not let 
us spoil our life after twenty-eight years together. 
I will not give any more parties, but do not pain 
me so! 

(Vania and Katia rush in.) 
Both. 
Mother, come quick! 

Marie. 
I'm coming — I'm coming ! Then let us for- 
give each other. 

(Exeunt Marie Ivanovna and 
Children.) 



198 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
{alone.) A child — a perfect child! Or — a 
cunning woman ! Ah, yes — a cunning child. 
That is it! O Thou dost not desire me for Thy 
servant. Thou wouldest humiliate me that all 
should point at me and say, " He talks but he does 
not act." I submit. He knows best what He de- 
sires. Humility, simplicity. Oh ! if I could only 
raise myself to Him. {Enter Lisa.) 

Lisa. 
Excuse me: I came to bring you a letter from 
Vasily Ermilovich. It was written to me, but 
he wanted me to tell you about it. 

Nicholas. 
Is it really true then? 

Lisa. 
Yes. Read what he says. 

Nicholas. 
Will you read it to me? 

Lisa. 
{reading.) " I am writing to ask you to com- 
municate this to Nicholas Ivanovich. I pro- 
foundly regret the error which made me openly 
renounce the Holy Orthodox Church, and I re- 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 199 

joice in my return. I wish the same for you and 
for Nicholas Ivanovich, and I ask your forgive- 
ness." 

Nicholas. 

They have driven the poor man to this, but still 
it is terrible. 

Lisa. 
I wanted to tell you also that the Princess has 
come. She came into my room in a terrible state 
of excitement, and says she must see you. She 
has just come from Boris. I think you had bet- 
ter not see her. What good could it do? 

Nicholas. 
No, call her in. Evidently this is to be a ter- 
rible day of trial. 

Lisa. 
Then I'll call her. (Exit.) 
Nicholas. 
(alone.) Oh, just to remember that life consists 
in serving Thee! To remember that if Thou 
sendest trials to me, it is that Thou thinkest that 
I am able to bear them; that they are not above 
my strength, otherwise it would not be a trial. 
Father, help me — help me to do Thy will, and 
not my own. 

(Enter Princess.) 



200 THE LIGHT THAT 

Princess. 
Oh, so you have admitted me — you have 
deigned to receive me. I will not shake your 
hand, because I hate and despise you. 

Nicholas. 
What has happened? 

Princess. 

Just this! He is being transferred to the dis- 
ciplinary battalion, and it is your doing. 

Nicholas. 

Princess, if you want anything, tell me what it 
is. If you have only come to abuse me, you are 
merely doing yourself harm. As for me, you 
cannot offend me, because I sympathise with you, 
and pity you with all my soul. 

Princess. 
How charitable! Sublime Christianity! No, 
Monsieur Sarintsev, you cannot deceive me. I 
know you now. It is nothing to you that you 
have ruined my son, and here you are giving balls. 
Your daughter, who is engaged to my son, is 
about to make a match of which you approve, 
while you pretend to lead the simple life — you 
play at carpentering. How hateful you are to 
me, with your pharisaical life! 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 201 

Nicholas. 
Calm yourself, Princess, and tell me what you 
want. You have not come simply to abuse me. 

Princess. 
Yes, partly. I had to pour out my anguish. 
What I want of you is this : they are sending him 
to the disciplinary battalion, and I cannot bear 
that. And it is you who have done it * — you 1— * 
you — you I 

Nicholas. 

Not I — God has done it. And God knows 
how I pity you. Do not set yourself in opposi- 
tion to the will of God. He is testing you. Bear 
it humbly. 

Princess. 

I cannot bear it humbly. My son is all the 
world to me, and you have taken him from me 
and have ruined him. I cannot accept it quietly. 
I have come to you, and I tell you again, and for 
the last time, that you have brought about his 
ruin, and you must save him. Go and obtain his 
release — go to the authorities, to the Tsar, to 
whomever you will. It is your duty. If you 
will not, I know what I shall do. You will an- 
swer to me for what you have done. 



202 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas. 
Tell me what I am to do. I am willing to do 
all I can. 

Princess. 
I repeat once more, you must save him. If you 
do not — remember. Good-bye. (Exit,) 

(Nicholas lies down on the sofa. 
Silence. Pause. Music of " Gross- 
water's Tanz" is distinctly heard.) 

Stephen. 
Father isn't here. Come on. 

(Enter chain of dancers, adults 
and children.) 

Luba. 
(seeing her father.) Oh, you are here! I beg 
your pardon! 

Nicholas. 
(rising.) Never mind. 

(Chain goes through the room and 
out at the other door.) 

(alone.) Vasily Ermilovich has returned to the 
Church. Boris is ruined through me. Luba will 
marry. Is it possible that I am mistaken — mis- 
taken in believing Thee? Ah no! Father, help 
me! 



ACT V 
Scene I 

A cell in the Disciplinary Battalion. — Prison- 
ers sitting or lying about. — Boris reading the 
Gospel and making comments. 

A man who has been flogged led out from this 
cell. — " Oh, why is there not another Pugachev 
to avenge us? " 

Princess rushes in. — She is turned out. — 
Struggle with an officer. 

Prisoners ordered to prayers. 

Boris sent to the dungeon, and sentenced to be 
flogged. 

Scene II 

The Czar's Study. — Cigarettes. — Jokes. — 
Blandishments. — Princess is announced. — Or- 
dered to wait. 

Cringing Petitioners. 

Then enter Princess. — Request refused. 

{Exeunt.) 

Scene III 

Marie Ivanovna. — Speak with doctor of ill- 
ness of Nicholas Ivanovich. — He has changed, is 
very mild, but dejected. 

203 



20 4 THE LIGHT THAT 

Nicholas Ivanovich enters with doctor. — 
Treatment is futile. — The soul is more important, 
but I consent for the sake of my wife. {Enter 
Tonia with Stephen, Luba with Starkovsky.) 
Talk of the land. Nicholas Ivanovich tries 
not to of end the others. {All go.) 

Nicholas. 
{alone with Lisa.) I am in a state of continual 
vacillation. Have I done right? I have 
achieved nothing. I have ruined Boris. Vasily 
Ermilovich has returned to the Church. I am an 
example of weakness. I see God did not want 
me to be His servant. He has many other serv- 
ants. They will do the right thing without me. 
To see that clearly is to obtain peace of mind. 
(Lisa goes. — He prays.) 

Princess dashes in and kills him.- — All rush 
in. — He says he did it himself accidentally. — 
Writes petition to the Tsar. 

Enter Vasily Ermilovich with Dukhobors. 
— Nicholas Ivanovich dies rejoicing that the 
falsehoods of the Church are broken down. — He 
realises the meaning of his life. 

Alternative for Last Scene. 

Letter from Boris full of desperate agitation. 
"I know — I have also passed through that." 



SHINES IN DARKNESS 205 

Liberals.- — A professor from the height of 
his superiority forgives and explains. 

A Liberal society lady, wearing diamonds, pres- 
ent. — ■ 

" They are unable to understand. It will take 
a hundred years for them to do so." 



FEB 9 1912 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



Ft& 9 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



000232717^5 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



002 327 179 5 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



II II I III II Ml I INI M 
002 327 179 5 



